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MR  ISAACS 


A  TALE  OF  MODERN  INDIA 


A . 


t 


By  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 

AUTHOR  OF  “DOCTOR  CLAUDIUS,”  “ZOROASTER,” 

“A  ROMAN  SINGER,”  ETC. 


Ah !  si  tu  dois  mow rir,  bel  astre,  et  si  ta  tete 
Va  dans  la  vaste  mer  plonger  ses  blonds  cheveux, 

Avant  de  nous  quitter,  un  seul  instant  arrete — 

Etoile  de  l’amour,  ne  descends  pas  des  cieux! 

Alfred  de  Musset,  Le  Saule. 


Non  fgatft 

MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 

AND  LONDON 

1895 


* 


All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT 

1882 

BY 

F.  MARION  CRAWFORD. 


First  printed  in  1882.  New  Uniform  Edition  set  up  and  electrotyped 
Dec.  18,  1891.  Reprinted  October,  1892;  July,  1893;  July,  1894; 
July,  1895. 


Nothjoob  19rcss 

J.  S.  Cushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  spite  of  Jean- Jacques  and  liis  school,  men  are 
not  everywhere  born  free,  any  more  than  they  are 
everywhere  in  chains,  unless  these  he  of  their  own 
individual  making.  Especially  in  countries  where 
excessive  liberty  or  excessive  tyranny  favours  the 
growth  of  that  class  most  usually  designated  as  ad¬ 
venturers,  it  is  true  that  man,  by  his  own  domi¬ 
nant  will,  or  by  a  still  more  potent  servility,  may 
rise  to  any  grade  of  elevation  ;  as  by  the  absence  of 
these  qualities  he  may  fall  to  any  depth  in  the  social 
scale. 

Wherever  freedom  degenerates  into  license,  the 
ruthless  predatory  instinct  of  certain  bold  and  un¬ 
scrupulous  persons  may,  and  almost  certainly  will, 
place  at  their  disposal  the  goods,  the  honours,  and 
the  preferment  justly  the  due  of  others ;  and  in  those 
more  numerous  and  certainly  more  unhappy  coun¬ 
tries,  where  the  rule  of  the  tyrant  is  substituted  for 


9 


MR.  ISAACS. 


tlie  law  of  God,  the  unwearying  flatterer,  patient 
under  blows  and  abstemious  under  high-feeding,  will 
assuredly  make  his  way  to  power. 

Without  doubt  the  Eastern  portion  of  the  world, 
where  an  hereditary,  or  at  least  traditional,  despotism 
lias  never  ceased  since  the  earliest  social  records,  and 
where  a  mode  of  thought  infinitely  more  degrading 
than  any  feudalism  has  become  ingrained  in  the  blood 
and  soul  of  the  chief  races,  presents  far  more  favour¬ 
able  conditions  to  the  growth  and  development  of  the 
true  adventurer  than  are  offered  in  any  free  country. 
For  in  a  free  country  the  majority  can  rise  and  over¬ 
throw  the  favourite  of  fortune,  whereas  in  a  despotic 
country  they  cannot.  Of  Eastern  countries  in  this 
condition,  Russia  is  the  nearest  to  us  ;  though  perhaps 
we  understand  the  Chinese  character  better  than  the 
Russian.  The  Ottoman  empire  and  Persia  are,  and 
always  have  been,  swayed  by  a  clever  band  of  flat¬ 
terers  acting  through  their  nominal  master ;  while 
India,  under  the  kindly  British  rule,  is  a  perfect  in¬ 
stance  of  a  ruthless  military  despotism,  where  neither 
blood  nor  stratagem  have  been  spared  in  exacting  the 
uttermost  farthing  from  the  miserable  serfs  —  they 
are  nothing  else — and  in  robbing  and  defrauding  the 
rich  of  their  just  and  lawful  possessions.  All  these 
countries  teem  with  stories  of  adventurers  risen  from 
the  ranks  to  the  command  of  armies,  of  itinerant 
merchants  wedded  to  princesses,  of  hardy  sailors  pro¬ 
moted  to  admiralties,  of  half-educated  younger  sons 
of  English  peers  dying  in  the  undisputed  possession 


MR.  ISAACS. 


3 


of  ill-gotten  millions.  With  the  strong  personal  des¬ 
potism  of  the  First  Napoleon  began  a  new  era  of 
adventurers  in  France  ;  not  of  elegant  and  accom¬ 
plished  adventurers  like  M.  de  St.  Germain,  Caglios- 
tro,  or  the  Comtesse  de  la  Motte,  hut  regular  rag- 
tag-and-bobtail  cut-throat  moss-troopers,  who  carved 
and  slashed  themselves  into  notice  by  sheer  animal 
strength  and  brutality. 

There  is  infinitely  more  grace  and  romance  about 
the  Eastern  adventurer.  There  is  very  little  slash¬ 
ing  and  hewing  to  be  done  there,  and  what  there  is, 
is  managed  as  quietly  as  possible.  When  a  Sultan 
must  be  rid  of  the  last  superfluous  Avife,  she  is  quietly 
done  up  in  a  parcel  with  a  feAV  shot,  and  dropped 
into  the  Bosphorus  Avithout  more  ado.  The  good 
old-fashioned  Rajah  of  Mudpoor  did  his  killing  with¬ 
out  scandal,  and  Avhen  the  kindly  British  Avish  to 
keep  a  secret,  the  man  is  hanged  in  a  quiet  place 
Avliere  there  are  no  reporters.  As  in  the  Greek  trag¬ 
edies,  the  butchery  is  done  behind  the  scenes,  and 
there  is  no  glory  connected  with  the  business,  only 
gain.  The  ghosts  of  the  slain  sometimes  appear  in 
the  columns  of  the  recalcitrant  Indian  newspapers 
and  gibber  a  feeble  little  “  Otototoi !  ”  after  the  man¬ 
ner  of  the  shade  of  Dareios,  but  there  is  very  little 
heed  paid  to  such  visitations  by  the  kindly  British. 
But  though  the  “raw  head  and  bloody  bones”  type 
of  adventurer  is  little  in  demand  in  the  East,  there  is 
plenty  of  scope  for  the  intelligent  and  wary  flatterer, 
and  some  room  for  the  honest  man  of  superior  gifts, 


MR.  ISAACS. 


4 

who  is  sufficiently  free  from  Oriental  prejudice  to  do 
energetically  the  thing  which  comes  in  his  way,  dis¬ 
tancing  all  competitors  for  the  favours  of  fortune  by 
sheer  industry  and  unerring  foresight. 

I  once  knew  a  man  in  the  East  who  was  neither  a 
flatterer  nor  freebooter,  but  who  by  his.  own  mas¬ 
terly  perseverance  worked  his  way  to  immense  wealth, 
and  to  such  power  as  wealth  commands,  though  his 
high  view  of  the  social  aims  of  mankind  deterred  him 
from  mixing  in  political  questions.  Bon  cMen  chasse 
de  race  is  a  proverb  which  applies  to  horses,  cattle, 
and  men,  as  well  as  to  dogs;  and  in  this  man,  who 
was  a  noble  type  of  the  Aryan  race,  the  qualities 
which  have  made  that  race  dominant  were  developed 
in  the  highest  degree.  The  sequel,  indeed,  might 
lead  the  ethnographer  into  a  labyrinth  of  conjecture, 
but  the  story  is  too  tempting  a  one  for  me  to  forego 
telling  it,  although  the  said  ethnographer  should  lose 
his  wits  in  striving  to  solve  the  puzzle. 

In  September,  1879,  T  was  at  Simla  in  tire  lower 
Himalayas, — ut  the  time  of  the  murder  of  Sir  Louis 
Cavagnari  at  Kabul,  —  being  called  there  in  the  in¬ 
terests  of  an  Anglo-Indian  newspaper,  of  which  I  was 
then  editor.  In  other  countries,  notably  in  Europe 
and  in  America,  there  are  hundreds  of  spots  by  the 
sea-sliore,  or  on  the  mountain-side,  where  specific  ills 
may  be  cured  by  their  corresponding  antidotes  of  air 
or  water,  or  both.  Following  the  aristocratic  and  holy 
example  of  the  Bishops  of  Salzburg  for  the  last  eight 
centuries,  the  sovereigns  of  the  Continent  are  told 


\ 


MR.  ISAACS. 


5 


that  the  air  and  waters  of  Hofgastein  are  the  only 
nenuphar  for  the  over-taxed  brain  in  labour  beneath 
a  crown.  The  self-indulgent  sybarite  is  recom¬ 
mended  to  Ems,  or  Wiesbaden,  or  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
and  the  quasi-incurable  sensualist  to  Aix  in  Savoy, 
or  to  Karlsbad  in  Bohemia.  In  our  own  magnificent 
land  Bethesdas  abound,  in  every  state,  from  the 
attractive  waters  of  lotus-eating  Saratoga  to  the  mag¬ 
netic  springs  of  Lansing,  Michigan;  from  Virginia, 
the  carcanet  of  sources,  the  heaving,  the  warm,  the 
hot  sulphur  springs,  the  white  sulphur,  the  alum,  to 
the  hot  springs  of  Arkansas,  the  Ultima  Thule  of  our 
migratory  and  despairing  humanity.  But  in  India, 
whatever  the  ailing,  low  fever,  high  fever,  “brandy 
pawnee  ”  fever,  malaria  caught  in  the  chase  of  tigers 
in  the  Terai,  or  dysentery  imbibed  on  the  banks  of 
the  Ganges,  there  is  only  one  cure,  the  “  hills ;  ”  and 
chief  of  “liill-stations”  is  Simla. 

On  the  hip  rather  than  on  the  shoulder  of  the  as¬ 
piring  Himalayas,  Simla  —  or  Shumla,  as  the  natives 
call  it  —  presents  during  the  wet  monsoon  period  a 
concourse  of  pilgrims  more  varied  even  than  the 
Bagneres  de  Bigorre  in  the  south  of  France,  where 
the  gay  Frenchman  asks  permission  of  the  lady  with 
whom  he  is  conversing  to  leave  her  abruptly,  in 
order  to  part  with  his  remaining  lung*,  the  loss  of  the 
first  having  brought  him  there.  “Pardon,  madame,” 
said  he,  “je  m’en  vais  craclier  mon  autre  poumon.” 

To  Simla  the  whole  surpeme  Government  migrates 
for  the  summer  —  Viceroy,  council,  clerks,  printers, 


6 


MR.  ISAACS. 


and  liangers-on.  Thither  the  high  official  from  the 
plains  takes  his  wife,  his  daughters,  and  his  liver. 
There  the  journalists  congregate  to  pick  up  the  news 
that  oozes  through  the  pent-liouse  of  Government 
secrecy,  and  failing  such  scant  drops  of  information, 
to  manufacture  as  much  as  is  necessary  to  fill  the 
columns  of  their  dailies.  On  the  slopes  of  “Jako” 
—  the  wooded  eminence  that  rises  above  the  town  — 
the  enterprising  German  establishes  his  concert-hall 
and  his  beer-garden ;  among  the  rhododendron  trees 
Madame  Blavatzky,  Colonel  Olcott  and  Mr.  Sinnett 
move  mysteriously  in  the  performance  of  their  won¬ 
ders;  and  the  wealthy  tourist  from  America,  the 
botanist  from  Berlin,  and  the  casual  peer  from  Great 
Britain,  are  not  wanting  to  complete  the  motley 
crowd.  There  are  no  roads  in  Simla  proper  where 
it  is  possible  to  drive,  excepting  one  narrow  way, 
reserved  when  I  was  there,  and  probably  still  set 
apart,  for  the  exclusive  delectation  of  the  Viceroy. 
Every  one  rides  —  man,  woman,  and  child;  and 
every  variety  of  horseflesh  may  be  seen  in  abun¬ 
dance,  from  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare’s  throughbreds 
to  the  broad-sterned  equestrian  vessel  of  Mr.  Currie 
Ghyrkins,  the  Revenue  Commissioner  of  Mudnugger 
in  Bengal.  But  I  need  not  now  dwell  long  on  the 
description  of  this  highly-favoured  spot,  where  Baron 
de  Zach  might  have  added  force  to  his  demonstration 
of  the  attraction  of  mountains  for  the  pendulum. 
Having  achieved  my  orientation  and  established  my 
servants  and  luggage  in  one  of  the  reputed  hotels,  I 


MR.  ISAACS. 


7 


began  to  look  about  me,  and,  like  an  intelligent 
American  observer,  as  I  pride  myself  that  I  am,  I 
found  considerable  pleasure  in  studying  out  the  char¬ 
acter  of  such  of  the  changing  crowd  on  the  verandah 
and  on  the  mall  as  caught  my  attention. 

At  last  the  dinner-hour  came.  With  the  rest  I 
filed  into  the  large  dining-room  and  took  my  seat. 
The  place  allotted  to  me  was  the  last  at  one  side  of 
the  long  table,  and  the  chair  opposite  was  vacant, 
though  two  remarkably  well-dressed  servants,  in  tur¬ 
bans  of  white  and  gold,  stood  with  folded  arms 
behind  it,  apparently  awaiting  their  master.  Nor  was 
he  long  in  coming.  I  never  remember  to  have  been 
so  much  struck  by  the  personal  appearance  of  any 
man  in  my  life.  He  sat  down  opposite  me,  and 
immediately  one  of  his  two  servants,  or  khitmatgars , 
as  they  are  called,  retired,  and  came  back  bearing  a 
priceless  goblet  and  flask  of  the  purest  old  Venetian 
mould.  Filling  the  former,  he  ceremoniously  pre¬ 
sented  his  master  with  a  brimming'  beaker  of  cold 
water.  A  water-drinker  in  India  is  always  a  phe¬ 
nomenon,  but  a  water-drinker  who  did  the  thing  so 
artistically  was  such  a  manifestation  as  I  had  never 
seen.  I  was  interested  beyond  the  possibility  of  hold¬ 
ing  my  peace,  and  as  I  watched  the  man’s  abstemious 
meal,  —  for  he  ate  little,  —  I  contrasted  him  with 
our  neighbours  at  the  board,  who  seemed  to  be  vying, 
like  the  captives  of  Circe,  to  ascertain  by  trial  who 
could  swallow  the  most  beef  and  mountain  mutton, 
and  who  could  absorb  the  most  “pegs  ”  —  those  vile 


8 


MR.  ISAACS. 


concoctions  of  spirits,  ice,  and  soda-water,  which 
have  destroyed  so  many  splendid  constitutions  under 
the  tropical  sun.  As  I  watched  him  an  impression 
came  over  me  that  he  must  he  an  Italian.  I  scanned 
his  appearance  narrowly,  and  watched  for  a  word  that 
should  betray  his  accent.  He  spoke  to  his  servant 
in  Hindustani,  and  I  noticed  at  once  the  peculiar 
sound  of  the  dental  consonants,  never  to  be  acquired 
by  a  northern -born  person. 

Before  I  go  farther,  let  me  try  and  describe  Mr. 
Isaacs ;  I  certainly  could  not  have  done  so  satisfac¬ 
torily  after  my  first  meeting,  but  subsequent  acquaint¬ 
ance,  and  the  events  I  am  about  to  chronicle,  threw 
me  so  often  in  his  society,  and  gave  me  such  ample 
opportunities  of  observation,  that  the  minutest  de¬ 
tails  of  his  form  and  feature,  as  well  as  the  smallest 
peculiarities  of  his  character  and  manner,  are  indeli¬ 
bly  graven  in  my  memory. 

Isaacs  was  a  man  of  more  than  medium  stature, 
though  he  would  never  be  spoken  of  as  tall.  An 
easy  grace  marked  his  movements  at  all  times, 
whether  deliberate  or  vehement,  — and  he  often  went 
to  each  extreme,  —  a  grace  which  no  one  acquainted 
with  the  science  of  the  human  frame  would  be  at  a  loss 
to  explain  for  a  moment.  The  perfect  harmony  of  all 
the  parts,  the  even  symmetry  of  every  muscle,  the 
equal  distribution  of  a  strength,  not  colossal  and 
overwhelming,  but  ever  ready  for  action,  the  natural 
courtesy  of  gesture  —  all  told  of  a  body  in  which 
true  proportion  of  every  limb  and  sinew  were  at  once 


MR.  ISAACS. 


9 


the  main  feature  and  the  pervading  characteristic. 
This  infinitely  supple  and  swiftly- moving  figure  was 
but  the  pedestal,  as  it  were,  for  the  noble  face  and 
nobler  brain  to  which  it  owed  its  life  and  majestic 
bearing.  A  long  oval  face  of  a  wondrous  transparent 
olive  tint,  and  of  a  decidedly  Oriental  type.  A 
prominent  brow  and  arched  but  delicate  eyebrows 
fitly  surmouned  a  nose  smoothly  aquiline,  but  with 
the  broad  well-set  nostrils  that  bespeak  active  cour¬ 
age.  His  mouth,  often  smiling,  never  laughed,  and 
the  lips,  though  closely  meeting,  were  not  thin  and 
writhing  and  cunning,  as  one  so  often  sees  in  eastern 
faces,  but  rather  inclined  to  a  generous  Greek  ful¬ 
ness,  the  curling  lines  ever  ready  to  express  a  sym¬ 
pathy  or  a  scorn  which  the  commanding  features 
above  seemed  to  control  and  curb,  as  the  stern, 
square-elbowed  Arab  checks  his  rebellious  horse,  or 
gives  him  the  rein,  at  will. 

But  though  Mr.  Isaacs  was  endowed  with  excep¬ 
tional  gifts  of  beauty  by  a  bountiful  nature,  those  I 
have  enumerated  were  by  no  means  what  first  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  observer.  I  have  spoken  of  his 
graceful  figure  and  perfect  Iranian  features,  but  I 
hardly  noticed  either  at  our  first  meeting.  I  was 
enthralled  and  fascinated  by  his  eyes.  I  once  saw  in 
France  a  jewel  composed  of  six  precious  stones,  each 
a  gem  of  great  value,  so  set  that  they  appeared  to 
form  but  one  solid  mass,  yielding  a  strange  radiance 
that  changed  its  hue  at  every  movement,  and  multi¬ 
plied  the  sunlight  a  thousand-fold.  W ere  I  to  seek 


10 


MR.  ISAACS. 


a  comparison  for  my  friend’s  eyes,  I  might  find  an 
imperfect  one  in  this  masterpiece  of  the  jeweller’s 
art.  They  were  dark  and  of  remarkable  size;  when 
half  closed  they  were  long  and  almond-shaped;  when 
suddenly  opened  in  anger  or  surprise  they  had  the 
roundness  and  bold  keenness  of  the  eagle’s  sight. 
There  was  a  depth  of  life  and  vital  light  in  them 
that  told  of  the  pent-up  force  of  a  hundred  genera¬ 
tions  of  Persian  magii.  They  blazed  with  the  splen¬ 
dour  of  a  god- like  nature,  needing  neither  meat  nor 
strong  drink  to  feed  its  power. 

My  mind  was  made  up.  Between  his  eyes,  his 
temperance,  and  his  dental  consonants,  he  certainty 
might  be  an  Italian.  Being  myself  a  native  of  Italy, 
though  an  American  by  parentage,  I  addressed  him 
in  the  language,  feeling  comparatively  sure  of  his 
answer.  To  my  surprise,  and  somewhat  to  my  con¬ 
fusion,  he  answered  in  two  words  of  modern  Greek 
— 44 Sev  ivoTjaa' — 44 1  do  not  understand.”  He  evi¬ 
dently  supposed  I  was  speaking  a  Greek  dialect,  and 
answered  in  the  one  phrase  of  that  tongue  which  he 
knew,  and  not  a  good  phrase  at  that. 

44 Pardon  me,”  said  I  in  English,  44 1  believed  you 
a  countryman,  and  ventured  to  address  you  in  my 
native  tongue.  May  I  inquire  whether  you  speak 
English?” 

I  was  not  a  little  astonished  when  he  answered  me 
in  pure  English,  and  with  an  evident  command  of 
the  language.  We  fell  into  conversation,  and  I 
found  him  pungent,  ready,  impressive,  and  most 


MR.  ISAACS. 


11 


entertaining,  thoroughly  acquainted  with  Anglo- 
Indian  and  English  topics,  and  apparently  well  read. 
An  Indian  dinner  is  a  long  affair,  so  that  we  had 
ample  time  to  break  the  ice,  an  easy  matter  always 
for  people  who  are  not  English,  and  when,  after  the 
fruit,  he  invited  me  to  come  down  and  smoke  with 
him  in  his  rooms,  I  gladly  availed  myself  of  the 
opportunity.  We  separated  for  a  few  moments,  and 
I  despatched  my  servant  to  the  manager  of  the  hotel 
to  ascertain  the  name  of  the  strange  gentleman  who 
looked  like  an  Italian  and  spoke  like  a  fellow  of 
Balliol.  Having  discovered  that  he  was  a  “  Mr. 
Isaacs,”  I  wended  my  way  through  verandahs  and 
corridors,  preceded  by  a  chuprassie  and  followed  by 
my  pipe-bearer,  till  I  came  to  his  rooms. 

The  fashion  of  the  hookah  or  narghyle  in  India 
has  long  disappeared  from  the  English  portion  of 
society.  Its  place  has  been  assumed  and  usurped  by 
the  cheroot  from  Burmah  or  Trichinopoli,  by  the 
cigarette  from  Egypt,  or  the  more  expensive  Manilla 
and  Havana  cigars.  I,  however,  in  an  early  burst 
of  Oriental  enthusiasm,  had  ventured  upon  the  obso¬ 
lete  fashion,  and  so  charmed  was  I  by  the  indolent 
aromatic  enjoyment  I  got  from  the  rather  cumbrous 
machine,  that  I  never  gave  it  up  while  in  the  East. 
So  when  Mr.  Isaacs  invited  me  to  come  and  smoke 
in  his  rooms,  or  rather  before  his  rooms,  for  the 
September  air  was  still  warm  in  the  hills,  I  ordered 
my  “bearer  ”  to  bring  down  the  apparatus  and  to  pre¬ 
pare  it  for  use.  I  myself  passed  through  the  glass 


12 


MR.  ISAACS. 


door  iii  accordance  with  my  new  acquaintance’s 
invitation,  curious  to  see  the  kind  of  abode  in  which 
a  man  who  struck  me  as  being  so  unlike  his  fellows 
spent  his  summer  months.  For  some  minutes  after 
I  entered  I  did  not  speak,  and  indeed  I  hardly 
breathed.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  suddenly 
transported  into  the  subterranean  chambers  whither 
the  wicked  magician  sent  Aladdin  in  quest  of  the 
lamp.  A  soft  but  strong  light  filled  the  room, 
though  I  did  not  immediately  comprehend  whence  it 
came,  nor  did  I  think  to  look,  so  amazed  was  I  by 
the  extraordinary  splendour  of  the  objects  that  met 
my  eyes.  In  the  first  glance  it  appeared  as  if  the 
walls  and  the  ceiling  were  lined  with  gold  and  pre¬ 
cious  stones ;  and  in  reality  it  was  almost  literally 
the  truth.  The  apartment,  I  soon  saw,  was  small, 
—  for  India  at  least, — and  every  available  space, 
nook  and  cranny,  were  filled  with  gold  and  jewelled 
ornaments,  shining  weapons,  or  uncouth  but  resplen¬ 
dent  idols.  There  were  sabres  in  scabbards  set  from 
end  to  end  with  diamonds  and  sapphires,  with  cross 
hilts  of  rubies  in  massive  gold  mounting,  the  spoil  of 
some  worsted  rajah  or  Nawab  of  the  mutiny.  There 
were  narghyles  four  feet  high,  crusted  with  gems 
and  curiously  wrought  work  from  Baghdad  or  Herat; 
water  flasks  of  gold  and  drinking  cups  of  jade; 
yataghans  from  lloum  and  idols  from  the  far  East. 
Gorgeous  lamps  of  the  octagonal  Oriental  shape  hung 
from  the  ceiling,  and,  fed  by  aromatic  oils,  shed  their 
soothing  light  on  all  around.  The  floor  was  cov- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


13 


ered  with  a  rich  soft  pile,  and  low  divans  were  heaped 
with  cushions  of  deep-tinted  silk  and  gold.  On  the 
floor,  in  a  corner  which  seemed  the  favourite  resting- 
place  of  my  host,  lay  open  two  or  three  superbly 
illuminated  Arabic  manuscripts,  and  from  a  chafing 
dish  of  silver  near  by  a  thin  thread  of  snow-white 
smoke  sent  up  its  faint  perfume  through  the  still  air. 
To  find  myself  transported  from  the  conventionalities 
of  a  stiff  and  starched  Anglo-Indian  hotel  to  such 
a  scene  was  something  novel  and  delicious  in  the 
extreme.  No  wonder  I  stood  speechless  and  amazed. 
Mr.  Isaacs  remained  near  the  door  while  I  breathed 
in  the  strange  sights  to  which  lie  had  introduced 

O  O 

me.  At  last  I  turned,  and  from  contemplating  the 
magnificence  of  inanimate  wealth  I  was  riveted  by 
the  majestic  face  and  expression  of  the  beautiful  liv¬ 
ing  creature  who,  by  a  turn  of  his  wand,  or,  to  speak 
prosaically,  by  an  invitation  to  smoke,  had  lifted  me 
out  of  humdrum  into  a  land  peopled  with  all  the 
effulgent  phantasies  and  the  priceless  realities  of  the 
magic  East.  As  I  gazed,  it  seemed  as  if  the  illumi- 
nation  from  the  lamps  above  were  caught  up  and  flung 
back  with  the  vitality  of  living  fire  by  his  dark  eyes, 
in  which  more  than  ever  I  saw  and  realised  the  inex¬ 
plicable  blending  of  the  precious  stones  with  the 
burning  spark  of  a  divine  soul  breathing  within. 
For  some  moments  we  stood  thus;  he  evidently 
amused  at  my  astonishment,  and  I  fascinated  and 
excited  by  the  problem  presented  me  for  solution  in 
his  .person  and  possessions. 


14 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“Yes,”  said  Isaacs,  “you  are  naturally  surprised 
at  my  little  Eldorado,  so  snugly  hidden  away  in  the 
lower  story  of  a  commonplace  hotel.  Perhaps  you 
are  surprised  at  finding  me  here,  too.  But  come  out 
into  the  air,  your  hookah  is  blazing,  and  so  are  the 
stars.” 

I  followed  him  into  the  verandah,  where  the  long 
cane  chairs  of  the  country  were  placed,  and  taking 
the  tube  of  the  pipe  from  the  solemn  Mussulman 
whose  duty  it  was  to  prepare  it,  I  stretched  myself 
out  in  that  indolent  lazy  peace  which  is  only  to  be 
enjoyed  in  tropical  countries.  Silent  and  for  the 
nonce  perfectly  happy,  I  slowly  inhaled  the  fragrant 
vapour  of  tobacco  and  aromatic  herbs  and  honey  with 
which  the  hookah  is  filled.  No  sound  save  the 
monotonous  bubbling  and  chuckling  of  the  smoke 
through  the  water,  or  the  gentle  rustle  of  the  leaves 
on  the  huge  rhododendron-tree  which  reared  its  dusky 
branches  to  the  night  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn. 
There  was  no  moon,  though  the  stars  were  brig] it 
and  clear,  the  foaming  path  of  the  milky  way  stretch¬ 
ing  overhead  like  the  wake  of  some  great  heavenly 
ship;  a  soft  mellow  lustre  from  the  lamps  in  Isaacs’ 
room  threw  a  golden  stain  half  across  the  verandah, 
and  the  chafing  dish  within,  as  the  light  breeze 
fanned  the  coals,  sent  out  a  little  cloud  of  perfume 
which  mingled  pleasantly  with  the  odour  of  the  chil- 
lum  in  the  pipe.  The  turbaned  servant  squatted  on  the 
edge  of  the  steps  at  a  little  distance,  peering  into  the 
dusk,  as  Indians  will  do  for  hours  together.  Isaacs 


MR.  ISAACS. 


15 


lay  quite  still  in  liis  chair,  liis  hands  above  his  head, 
the  light  through  the  open  door  just  falling  on  the 
jewelled  mouthpiece  of  his  narghyle.  He  sighed  — 
a  sigh  only  half  regretful,  half  contented,  and  seemed 
about  to  speak,  but  the  spirit  did  not  move  him,  and 
the  profound  silence  continued.  For  my  part,  I  was 
so  much  absorbed  in  my  reflections  on  the  things  I 
had  seen  that  I  had  nothing  to  say,  and.  the  strange 
personality  of  the  man  made  me  wish  to  let  him  begin 
upon  his  own  subject,  if  perchance  I  might  gain 
some  insight  into  his  mind  and  mode  of  thought. 
There  are  times  when  silence  seems  to  be  sacred,  even 
unaccountably  so.  A  feeling  is  in  us  that  to  speak 
would  be  almost  a  sacrilege,  though  we  are  unable 
to  account  in  any  way  for  the  pause.  At  such 
moments  every  one  seems  instinctively  to  feel  the 
same  influence,  and  the  first  person  who  breaks  the 
spell  either  experiences  a  sensation  of  awkwardness, 
and  says  something  very  foolish,  or,  conscious  of 
the  odds  against  him,  delivers  himself  of  a  sentiment 
of  ponderous  severity  and  sententiousness.  As  I 
smoked,  watching  the  great  flaming  bowl  of  the 
water  pipe,  a  little  coal,  forced  up  by  the  expansion 
of  the  heat,  toppled  over  the  edge  and  fell  tinkling  on 
the  metal  foot  below.  The  quick  ear  of  the  servant 
on  the  steps  caught  the  sound,  and  he  rose  and  came 
forward  to  trim  the  fire.  Though  he  did  not  speak, 
his  act  was  a  diversion.  The  spell  was  broken. 

“The  Germans,”  said  Isaacs,  “say  that  an  angel 
is  passing  over  the  house.  I  do  not  believe  it.” 


16 


MR.  ISAACS. 


I  was  surprised  at  the  remark.  It  did  not  seem 
quite  natural  for  Mr.  Isaacs  to  begin  talking  about 
the  Germans,  and  from  the  tone  of  his  voice  I  could 
almost  have  fancied  he  thought  the  proverb  was  held 
as  an  article  of  faith  by  the  Teutonic  races  in  general. 

“I  do  not  believe  it,”  he  repeated  reflectively. 
“  There  is  no  such  thing  as  an  angel  4  passing  ’ ;  it  is 
a  misuse  of  terms.  If  there  are  such  things  as  angels, 
their  changes  of  place  cannot  be  described  as  motion, 
seeing  that  from  the  very  nature  of  things  such 
changes  must  be  instantaneous,  not  involving  time 
as  a  necessary  element.  Have  you  ever  thought 
much  about  angels  ?  By-the-bye,  pardon  my  abrupt¬ 
ness,  but  as  there  is  no  one  to  introduce  us,  what  is 
your  name  ?  ” 

“My  name  is  Griggs — Paul  Griggs.  I  am  an 
American,  but  was  born  in  Italy.  I  know  your 
name  is  Isaacs ;  but,  frankly,  I  do  not  comprehend 
how  you  came  by  the  appellation,  for  I  do  not  believe 
you  are  either  English,  American,  or  Jewish  of 
origin.” 

“Quite  right,”  he  replied,  “I  am  neither  Yankee, 
Jew,  nor  beef-eater;  in  fact,  I  am  not  a  European 
at  all.  And  since  you  probably  would  not  guess  my 
nationality,  I  will  tell  you  that  I  am  a  Persian,  a 
pure  Iranian,  a  degenerate  descendant  of  Zoroaster, 
as  you  call  him,  though  by  religion  I  follow  the 
prophet,  whose  name  be  blessed,”  he  added,  with  an 
expression  of  face  I  did  not  then  understand.  “  I  call 
myself  Isaacs  for  convenience  in  business.  There  is 


MR.  ISAACS. 


17 


no  concealment  about  it,  as  many  know  my  story; 
but  it  has  an  attractive  Semitic  twang  that  suits  my 
occupation,  and  is  simpler  and  shorter  for  English¬ 
men  to  write  than  Abdul  Hafizben-Isak,  which  is  my 
lawful  name.” 

“  Since  you  lay  sufficient  store  by  your  business  to 
have  been  willing  to  change  your  name,  may  I 
inquire  what  your  business  is  ?  It  seems  to  be  a 
lucrative  one,  to  judge  by  the  accumulations  of 
wealth  you  have  allowed  me  a  glimpse  of.” 

“Yes.  Wealth  is  my  occupation.  I  am  a  dealer 
in  precious  stones  and  similar  objects  of  value. 
Some  day  I  will  show  you  my  diamonds ;  they  are 
worth  seeing.” 

It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  meet  in  India  men  of 
all  Asiatic  nationalities  buying  and  selling  stones  of 
worth,  and  enriching  themselves  in  the  business.  I 
supposed  he  had  come  with  a  caravan  by  way  of 
Baghdad,  and  had  settled.  But  again,  his  perfect 
command  of  English,  as  pure  as  though  he  had  been 
educated  at  Eton  and  Oxford,  his  extremely  careful, 
though  quiet,  English  dress,  and  especially  his 
polished  manners,  argued  a  longer  residence  in  the 
European  civilisation  of  his  adopted  home  than 
agreed  with  his  young  looks,  supposing  him  to  have 
come  to  India  at  sixteen  or  seventeen.  A  pardon¬ 
able  curiosity  led  me  to  remark  this. 

“You  must  have  come  here  very  young,”  I  said. 
“A  thoroughbred  Persian  does  not  learn  to  speak 
English  like  a  university  man,  and  to  quote  German 

c 


18 


MR.  ISAACS. 


proverbs,  in  a  residence  of  a  few  years;  unless, 
indeed,  lie  possess  tlie  secret  by  which  the  initiated 
absorb  knowledge  without  effort,  and  assimilate  it 
without  the  laborious  process  of  intellectual  diges¬ 
tion.” 

“  I  am  older  than  I  look  —  considerably.  I  have 
been  in  India  twelve  years,  and  with  a  natural  talent 
for  languages,  stimulated  by  constant  intercourse 
with  Englishmen  who  know  their  own  speech  well, 
I  have  succeeded,  as  you  say,  in  acquiring  a  certain 
fluency  and  mastery  of  accent.  I  have  had  an 
adventurous  life  enough.  I  see  no  reason  why  I 
should  not  tell  you  something  of  it,  especially  as 
you  are  not  English,  and  can  therefore  hear  me  with 
an  unprejudiced  ear.  But,  really,  do  you  care  for  a 
yarn?  ” 

I  begged  him  to  proceed,  and  I  beckoned  the  ser¬ 
vant  to  arrange  our  pipes,  that  we  might  not  be  dis¬ 
turbed.  When  this  was  done,  Isaacs  began. 

u  I  am  going  to  try  and  make  a  long  story  short. 
We  Persians  like  to  listen  to  long  stories,  as  we  like 
to  sit  and  look  on  at  a  wedding  nautch.  But  we  are 
radically  averse  to  dancing  or  telling  long  tales  our¬ 
selves,  so  I  shall  condense  as  much  as  possible.  1 
was  born  in  Persia,  of  Persian  parents,  as  I  told  you, 
but  I  will  not  burden  your  memory  with  names  you 
are  not  familiar  with.  My  father  was  a  merchant  in 
prosperous  circumstances,  and  a  man  of  no  mean 
learning  in  Arabic  and  Persian  literature.  I  soon 
showed  a  strong  taste  for  books,  and  every  opportu- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


19 


nity  was  given  me  for  pursuing  my  inclinations  in 
this  respect.  At  the  early  age  of  twelve  I  was  kid¬ 
napped  by  a  party  of  slave-dealers,  and  carried  off  into 
Roum  —  Turkey  you  call  it.  I  will  not  dwell  upon 
my  tears  and  indignation.  We  travelled  rapidly, 
and  my  captors  treated  me  well,  as  they  invariably 
do  their  prizes,  well  knowing  how  much  of  the  value 
of  a  slave  depends  on  his  plump  and  sleek  condition 
when  brought  to  market.  In  Istamboul  I  was  soon 
disposed  of,  my  fair  skin  and  accomplishments  as  a 
writer  and  a  singer  of  Persian  songs  fetching  a  high 
price. 

“  It  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  boys  to  be  stolen 
and  sold  in  this  way.  A  rich  pacha  will  pay  almost 
anything.  The  fate  of  such  slaves  is  not  generally 
a  happy  one.”  Isaacs  paused  a  moment,  and  drew 
in  two  or  three  long  breaths  of  smoke.  “  Do  you 
see  that  bright  star  in  the  south?”  he  said,  pointing 
with  his  long  jewel-set  mouthpiece. 

“Yes.  It  must  be  Sirius.” 

“  That  is  my  star.  Do  you  believe  in  the  agency 
of  the  stars  in  human  affairs  ?  Of  course  you  do  not ; 
you  are  a  European:  how  should  you?  But  to  pro¬ 
ceed.  The  stars,  or  the  fates  or  Kali,  or  whatever 
you  like  to  term  your  kismet,  your  portion  of  good 
and  evil,  allotted  me  a  somewhat  happier  existence 
than  generally  falls  to  the  share  of  young  slaves  in 
Roum.  I  was  bought  by  an  old  man  of  great  wealth 
and  of  still  greater  learning,  who  was  so  taken  with 
my  proficiency  in  Arabic  and  in  writing  that  he 


20 


MR.  ISAACS. 


resolved  to  make  of  me  a  pupil  instead  of  a  servant 
to  carry  his  coffee  and  pipe,  or  a  slave  to  bear  the 
heavier  burden  of  his  vices.  Nothing  better  could 
have  happened  to  me.  I  was  installed  in  his  house 
and  treated  with  exemplary  kindness,  though  he  kept 
me  rigorously  at  work  with  my  books.  I  need  not 
tell  you  that  with  such  a  master  1  made  fair  progress, 
and  that  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  I  was,  for  a  Turk, 
a  young  man  of  remarkably  good  education.  Then 
my  master  died  suddenly,  and  I  was  thrown  into 
great  distress.  1  was  of  course  nothing  but  a  slave, 
and  liable  to  be  sold  at  any  time.  I  escaped.  Active 
and  enduring,  though  never  possessing  any  vast 
muscular  strength,  I  bore  with  ease  the  hardships  of 
a  long  journey  on  foot  with  little  food  and  scant 
lodging.  Falling  in  with  a  band  of  pilgrims,  I 
recognised  tl le  wisdom  of  joining  them  on  their 
march  to  Mecca.  1  was,  of  course,  a  sound  Moham¬ 
medan,  as  I  am  to  this  day,  and  my  knowledge  of 
the  Koran  soon  gained  me  some  reputation  in  the 
caravan.  I  was  considered  a  creditable  addition, 
and  altogether  an  eligible  pilgrim.  My  exceptional 
physique  protected  me  from  the  disease  and  exhaus¬ 
tion  of  which  not  a  few  of  our  number  died  b}r  the 
wayside,  and  the  other  pilgrims,  in  consideration  of 
my  youth  and  piety,  gave  me  willingly  the  few  hand¬ 
fuls  of  rice  and  dates  that  I  needed  to  support  life 
and  strength. 

“You  have  read  about  Mecca;  and  your  liadji 
barber,  who  of  course  has  been  there,  has  doubtless 


MR.  ISAACS. 


21 


related  his  experiences  to  you  scores  of  times  in  the 
plains,  as  he  does  everywhere.  As  you  may 
imagine,  I  had  no  intention  of  returning  towards 
Roum  with  my  companions.  When  1  had  fulfilled 
all  the  observances  required,  I  made  my  way  to  Yed- 
dah  and  shipped  on  board  an  Arabian  craft,  touching 
at  Mocha,  and  bearing  coffee  to  Bombay.  I  had  to 
work  my  passage,  and  as  1  had  no  experience  of  the 
sea,  save  in  the  caiques  of  the  Golden  Horn,  you 
will  readily  conceive  that  the  captain  of  the  vessel 
had  plenty  of  fault  to  find.  But  my  agility  and 
quick  comprehension  stood  me  in  good  stead,  and  in 
a  few  days  I  had  learned  enough  to  haul  on  a  rope  or 
to  reef  the  great  latteen  sails  as  well  as  any  of  them. 
The  knowledge  that  I  was  just  returning  from  a 
pilgrimage  to  Mecca  obtained  for  me  also  a  certain 
respect  among  the  crew.  It  makes  very  little  differ¬ 
ence  what  the  trade,  business,  or  branch  of  learn¬ 
ing;  in  mechanical  labour,  or  intellectual  effort,  the 
educated  man  is  always  superior  to  the  common 
labourer.  One  who  is  in  the  habit  of  applying  his 
powers  in  the  right  way  will  carry  his  system  into 
any  occupation,  and  it  will  help  him  as  much  to 
handle  a  rope  as  to  write  a  poem. 

“At  last  we  landed  in  Bombay.  I  was  in  a 
wretched  condition.  What  little  clothes  I  had  had 
were  in  tatters ;  hard  work  and  little  food  had  made 
me  even  thinner  than  my  youthful  age  and  slight 
frame  tolerated.  I  had  in  all  about  three  pence 
money  in  small  copper  coins,  carefully  hoarded 


MR.  ISAACS. 


99 

AJiJ 

against  a  rainy  clay.  I  could  not  speak  a  word  of 
the  Indian  dialects,  still  less  of  English,  and  I  knew 
no  one  save  the  crew  of  the  vessel  I  had  come  in,  as 
poor  as  I,  but  saved  from  starvation  by  the  slender 
pittance  allowed  them  on  land.  I  wandered  about 
all  day  through  the  bazaars,  occasionally  speaking  to 
some  solemn  looking  old  shopkeeper  or  long-bearded 
Mussulman,  who,  I  hoped,  might  understand  a  little 
Arabic.  But  not  one  did  I  find.  At  evening  I 
bathed  in  the  tank  of  a  temple  full  from  the  recent 
rains,  and  I  lay  down  supperless  to  sleep  on  the  steps 
of  the  great  mosque.  As  I  lay  on  the  hard  stones  I 
looked  up  to  my  star,  and  took  comfort,  and  slept. 
That  night  a  dream  came  to  me.  I  thought  I  was 
still  awake  and  lying  on  the  steps,  watching  the 
wondrous  ruler  of  my  fate.  And  as  I  looked  he 
glided  down  from  his  starry  throne  with  an  easy 
swinging  motion,  like  a  soap-bubble  settling  to  the 
earth.  And  .the  star  came  and  poised  among  the 
branches  of  the  palm-tree  over  the  tank,  opalescent, 
unearthly,  heart  shaking.  His  face  was  as  the  face 
of  the  prophet,  whose  name  be  blessed,  and  his  limbs 
were  as  the  limbs  of  the  Hameshaspentlias  of  old. 
Garments  he  had  none,  being  of  heavenly  birth,  but 
he  was  clothed  with  light  as  with  a  garment,  and  the 
crest  of  his  silver  hair  was  to  him  a  crown  of  gVny. 
And  he  spoke  with  the  tongues  of  a  thousand  lutes, 
sweet  strong  tones,  that  rose  and  fell  on  the  night 
air  as  the  song  of  a  lover  beneath  the  lattice  of  his 
mistress,  the  song  of  the  mighty  star  wooing  the 


MR.  ISAACS. 


23 


beautiful  sleeping  earth.  And  then  he  looked  on  me 
and  said:  ‘Abdul  Hafiz,  be  of  good  cheer.  I  am 
with  thee  and  will  not  forsake  thee,  even  to  the  day 
when  thou  shalt  pass  over  the  burning  bridge  of 
death.  Thou  shalt  touch  the  diamond  of  the  rivers 
and  the  pearl  of  the  sea,  and  they  shall  abide  with 
thee,  and  great  shall  be  thy  wealth.  And  the  sun¬ 
light  which  is  in  the  diamond  shall  warm  thee  and 
comfort  thy  heart ;  and  the  moonlight  which  is  in 
the  pearl  shall  give  thee  peace  in  the  night-time,  and 
thy  children  shall  be  to  thee  a  garland  of  roses  in  the 
land  of  the  unbeliever.’  And  the  star  floated  down 
from  the  palm-branches  and  touched  me  with  his 
hand,  and  breathed  upon  my  lips  the  cool  breath  of 
the  outer  firmament,  and  departed.  Then  I  awoke 
and  saw  him  again  in  his  place  far  down  the  horizon, 
and  he  was  alone,  for  the  dawn  was  in  the  sky  and 
the  lesser  lights  were  extinguished.  And  I  rose  from 
the  stony  stairway  that  seemed  like  a  bed  of  flowers 
for  the  hopeful  dream,  and  I  turned  westward,  and 
praised  Allah,  and  went  my  way. 

“  The  sun  being  up,  all  was  life,  and  the  life  in 
me  spoke  of  a  most  capacious  appetite.  So  I  cast 
about  for  a  shop  where  I  might  buy  a  little  food  with 
my  few  coppers,  and  seeing  a  confectioner  spreading 
out  his  wares,  I  went  near  and  took  stock  of  the 
queer  balls  of  flour  and  sugar,  and  strange  oily-look- 
ing  sweetmeats.  Having  selected  what  I  thought 
would  be  within  my  modest  means,  I  addressed  the 
shopkeeper  to  call  his  attention,  though  I  knew  he 


24 


MR.  ISAACS. 


would  not  understand  me,  and  I  touched  with  my 
hand  the  article  I  wanted,  showing  with  the  other 
some  of  the  small  coins  I  had.  As  soon  as  I  touched 
the  sweetmeats  the  man  became  very  angry,  and 
bounding  from  his  seat  called  his  neighbours  together, 
and  they  all  shouted  and  screamed  at  me,  and  called  a 
man  I  thought  to  be  a  soldier,  though  he  looked  more 
like  an  ape  in  his  long  loose  trousers  of  dirty  black, 
and  his  untidy  red  turban,  under  which  cumbrous 
garments  his  thin  and  stunted  frame  seemed  even 
blacker  and  more  contemptible  than  nature  had  made 
them.  I  afterwards  discovered  him  to  be  one  of  the 
Bombay  police.  He  seized  me  by  the  arm,  and  I, 
knowing  I  had  done  no  wrong,  and  curious  to  dis¬ 
cover,  if  possible,  what  the  trouble  was,  accompanied 
him  whither  he  led  me.  After  waiting  many  hours 
in  a  kind  of  little  shed  where  there  were  more  police¬ 
men,  I  was  brought  before  an  Englishman.  Of 
course  all  attempts  at  explanation  were  useless.  I 
could  speak  not  a  word  of  anything  but  Arabic  and 
Persian,  and  no  one  present  understood  either.  At 
last,  when  I  was  in  despair,  trying  to  muster  a  few 
words  of  Greek  I  had  learned  in  Istamboul,  and  fail¬ 
ing  signally  therein,  an  old  man  Avith  a  long  beard 
looked  curiously  in  at  the  door  of  the  crowded  court. 
Some  instinct  told  me  to  appeal  to  him,  and  I 
addressed  him  in  Arabic.  To  my  infinite  relief  lie 
replied  in  that  tongue,  and  volunteered  to  be  inter¬ 
preter.  In  a  feAV  moments  I  learned  that  my  crime 
was  that  I  had  touched  the  sAveetmeats  on  the  counter. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


25 


“In  India,  as  you  who  have  lived  here  doubtless 
know,  it  is  a  criminal  offence,  punishable  by  fine  or 
imprisonment,  for  a  non-Hindu  person  to  defile  the 
food  of  even  the  lowest  caste  man.  To  touch  one 
sweetmeat  in  a  trayful  defiles  the  whole  baking, 
rendering  it  all  unfit  for  the  use  of  any  Hindu,  no 
matter  how  mean.  Knowing  nothing  of  caste  and 
its  prejudices,  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that 
the  moolah ,  who  was  trying  to  help  me  out  of  my 
trouble,  could  make  me  comprehend  wherein  my 
wrong-doing  lay,  and  that  the  English  courts,  being 
obliged  in  their  own  interest  to  uphold  and  protect 
the  caste  practices  of  the  Hindus,  at  the  risk  of 
another  mutiny,  could  not  make  any  exception  in 
favour  of  a  stranger  unacquainted  with  Indian 
customs.  So  the  Englishman  who  presided  said  he 
would  have  to  inflict  a  fine,  but  being  a  very  young 
man,  not  yet  hardened  to  the  despotic  ways  of  Eastern 
life,  he  generously  paid  the  fine  himself,  and  gave 
me  a  rupee  as  a  present  into  the  bargain.  It  was 
only  two  shillings,  but  as  I  had  not  had  so  much 
money  for  months  I  was  as  grateful  as  though  it  had 
been  a  hundred.  If  I  ever  meet  him  I  will  requite 
him,  for  I  owe  him  all  I  now  possess. 

“My  case  being  dismissed,  I  left  the  court  with 
the  old  moolah ,  who  took  me  to  his  house  and  in¬ 
quired  of  my  story,  having  first  given  me  a  good  meal 
of  rice  and  sweetmeats,  and  that  greatest  of  luxuries, 
a  little  pot  of  fragrant  Mocha  coffee ;  he  sat  in  silence 
while  I  ate,  ministering  to  my  wants,  and  evidently 


26 


MR.  ISAACS. 


pleased  with  the  good  he  was  doing.  Then  he 
brought  out  a  package  of  birris ,  those  little  cigarettes 
rolled  in  leaves  that  they  smoke  in  Bombay,  and  I 
told  him  what  had  happened  to  me.  I  implored  him 
to  put  me  in  the  way  of  obtaining  some  work  by 
which  I  could  at  least  support  life,  and  he  promised 
to  do  so,  begging  me  to  stay  with  him  until  I  should 
be  independent.  The  day  following  I  was  engaged 
to  pull  a  punkah  in  the  house  of  an  English  lawyer 
connected  with  an  immense  lawsuit  involving  one 
of  the  Mohammedan  principalities.  For  this  irksome 
work  I  was  to  receive  six  rupees  —  twelve  shillings 
—  monthly,  but  before  the  month  was  up  I  was  trans¬ 
ferred,  by  the  kindness  of  the  English  lawyer  and  the 
good  offices  of  my  co-religionist  the  moolah ,  to  the 
retinue  of  the  Nizam  of  Haiderabad,  then  in  Bombay. 
Since  that  time  I  have  never  known  want. 

“  I  soon  mastered  enough  of  the  dialects  to  suit  my 
needs,  and  applied  myself  to  the  study  of  English, 
for  which  opportunities  were  not  lacking.  At  the 
end  of  two  years  I  could  speak  the  language  enough 
to  be  understood,  and  my  accent  from  the  first  was  a 
matter  of  surprise  to  all ;  I  had  also  saved  out  of  my 
gratuities  about  one  hundred  rupees.  Having  been 
conversant  with  the  qualities  of  many  kinds  of  pre¬ 
cious  stones  from  my  youth  up,  I  determined  to  invest 
my  economies  in  a  diamond  or  a  pearl.  Before  long 
I  struck  a  bargain  with  an  old  marwarri  over  a  small 
stone,  of  which  I  thought  he  misjudged  the  value, 
owing  to  the  rough  cutting.  The  fellow  was  cun 


MR.  ISAACS. 


27 


ning  and  hard  in  his  dealings,  but  my  superior 
knowledge  of  diamonds  gave  me  the  advantage.  I 
paid  him  ninety-three  rupees  for  the  little  gem,  and 
sold  it  again  in  a  month  for  two  hundred  to  a  young 
English  ‘collector  and  magistrate,’  who  wanted  to 
make  his  wife  a  present.  I  bought  a  larger  stone, 
and  again  made  nearly  a  hundred  per  cent  on  the 
money.  Then  I  bought  two,  and  so  on,  until  having 
accumulated  sufficient  capital,  I  bade  farewell  to  the 
Court  of  the  Nizam,  where  my  salary  never  exceeded 
sixteen  rupees  a  month  as  scribe  and  Arabic  inter¬ 
preter,  and  I  went  my  way  with  about  two  thousand 
rupees  in  cash  and  precious  stones.  I  came  north¬ 
wards,  and  finally  settled  in  Delhi,  where  I  set  up  as 
a  dealer  in  gems  and  objects  of  intrinsic  value.  It 
is  now  twelve  years  since  I  landed  in  Bombay.  I 
have  never  soiled  my  hands  with  usury,  though  I 
have  twice  advanced  large  sums  at  legal  interest  for 
purposes  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  disclose;  I  have  never 
cheated  a  customer  or  underrated  a  gem  I  bought 
of  a  poor  man,  and  my  wealth,  as  you  may  judge  from 
what  you  have  seen,  is  considerable.  Moreover, 
though  in  constant  intercourse  with  Hindus  and 
English,  I  have  not  forfeited  my  title  to  be  called  a 
true  believer  and  a  follower  of  the  prophet,  whose 
name  be  blessed.” 

Isaacs  ceased  speaking,  and  presently  the  waning 
moon  rose  pathetically  over  the  crest  of  the  moun¬ 
tains  with  that  curiously  doleful  look  she  wears  after 
the  full  is  past,  as  if  Aveeping  over  the  loss  of  her 


28 


MR.  ISAACS. 


better  half.  The  wind  rose  and  soughed  drearily 
through  the  rhododendrons  and  the  pines;  and 
Kiramat  Ali,  the  pipe-bearer,  shivered  audibly  as  he 
drew  his  long  cloth  uniform  around  him.  We  rose 
and  entered  my  friend’s  rooms,  where  the  warmth  of 
the  lights,  the  soft  rugs  and  downy  cushions,  invited 
us  temptingly  to  sit  down  and  continue  our  conver¬ 
sation.  But  it  was  late,  for  Isaacs,  like  a  true 
Oriental,  had  not  hurried  himself  over  his  narrative, 
and  it  had  been  nine  o’clock  when  we  sat  down  to 
smoke.  So  I  bade  him  good-niglit,  and,  musing  on 
all  I  had  heard  and  seen,  retired  to  my  own  apart¬ 
ments,  glancing  at  Sirius  and  at  the  unhappy-looking 
moon  before  I  turned  in  from  the  verandah. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


29 


CHAPTER  IT. 

In  India  —  in  tlie  plains  — •  people  rise  before 
dawn,  and  it  is  not  till  after  some  weeks’  residence 
in  the  cooler  atmosphere  of  the  mountains  that  they 
return  to  the  pernicious  habit  of  allowing  the  sun  to 
be  before  them.  The  hours  of  early  morning,  when 
one  either  mopes  about  in  loose  flannel  clothes,  or 
goes  for  a  gallop  on  the  green  maiddn ,  are  without 
exception  the  most  delicious  of  the  day.  I  shall 
have  occasion  hereafter  to  describe  the  morning’s 
proceedings  in  the  plains.  On  the  day  after  the 
events  recorded  in  the  last  chapter  I  awoke  as  usual 
at  five  o’clock,  and  meandered  out  on  to  the  verandah 
to  have  a  look  at  the  hills,  so  novel  and  delicious  a 
sight  after  the  endless  flats  of  the  northwest  prov¬ 
inces.  It  was  still  nearly  dark,  but  there  was  a  faint 
light  in  the  east,  which  rapidly  grew  as  I  watched  it, 
till,  turning  the  angle  of  the  house,  I  distinguished 
a  snow-peak  over  the  tops  of  the  dark  rhododendrons, 
and,  while  I  gazed,  the  first  tinge  of  distant  dawn¬ 
ing  caught  the  summit,  and  the  beautiful  hill  blushed, 
as  a  fair  woman,  at  the  kiss  of  the  awakening  sun. 
The  old  story,  the  heaven  wooing  the  earth  with  a 
wondrous  shower  of  gold. 


30 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“Prati  ’shya  sunan  jam” — -the  exquisite  lines  of 
the  old  Vedic  hymn  to  the  dawn  maiden,  rose  to  my 
lips.  I  had  never  appreciated  or  felt  their  truth 
down  in  the  dusty  plains,  hut  here,  on  the  free  hills, 
the  glad  welcoming  of  the  morning  light  seemed  to 
run  through  every  fibre,  as  thousands  of  years  ago 
the  same  joyful  thrill  of  returning  life  inspired  the 
pilgrim  fathers  of  the  Aryan  race.  Almost  uncon¬ 
sciously,  I  softly  intoned  the  hymn,  as  I  had  heard 
my  old  Brahmin  teacher  in  Allahabad  when  he  came 
and  sat  under  the  porch  at  daybreak,  until  I  was 
ready  for  him  — 

The  lissoihe  heavenly  maiden  here, 

Forth  flashing  from  her  sister’s  arms, 

High  heaven’s  daughter,  now  is  come. 

In  rosy  garments,  shining  like 
A  swift  bay  mare  ;  the  twin  knights’  friend, 

Mother  of  all  our  herds  of  kine. 

Yea,  thou  art  she,  the  horseman’s  friend  ; 

Of  grazing  cattle  mother  thou, 

All  wealth  is  thine,  thou  blushing  dawn. 

Thou  who  hast  driven  the  foeman  back, 

With  praise  we  call  on  thee  to  wake 
In  tender  reverence,  beauteous  one. 

The  spreading  beams  of  morning  light 
Are  countless  as  our  hosts  of  kine, 

They  fill  the  atmosphere  of  space. 

Filling  the  sky,  thou  openedst  wide 
The  gates  of  night,  thou  glorious  dawn  — • 

Rejoicing  run  thy  daily  race  ! 


MR.  ISAACS. 


81 


Tlie  heaven  above  thy  rays  have  filled, 

The  broad  beloved  room  of  air, 

O  splendid,  brightest  maid  of  morn  ! 

I  went  indoors  again  to  attend  to  my  correspond¬ 
ence,  and  presently  a  gorgeously  liveried  white- 
bearded  chuprassie  appeared  at  the  door,  and  bending 
low  as  he  touched  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  intimated 
that  “  if  the  great  lord  of  the  earth,  the  protector  of 
the  poor,  would  turn  his  ear  to  the  humblest  of  his 
servants,  he  would  hear  of  something  to  his  advan¬ 
tage.*’ 

So  saying,  he  presented  a  letter  from  the  official 
with  whom  I  had  to  do,  an  answer  to  my  note  of 
the  previous  afternoon,  requesting  an  interview.  In 
due  course,  therefore,  the  day  wore  on,  and  I  trans¬ 
acted  my  business,  returned  to  “tiffin,”  and  then 
went  up  to  my  rooms  for  a  little  quiet.  I  might 
have  been  there  an  hour,  smoking  and  dreaming  over 
a  book,  when  the  servant  announced  a  sahib  who 
wanted  to  see  me,  and  Isaacs  walked  in,  redolent  of 
the  sunshine  without,  his  luminous  eyes  shining 
brightly  in  the  darkened  room.  I  was  delighted,  for 
I  felt  my  wits  stagnating  in  the  unwonted  idleness 
of  the  autumn  afternoon,  and  the  book  I  had  taken 
up  was  not  conducive  to  wakefulness  or  brilliancy. 
It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  too.  It  is  not  often  that 
an  hotel  acquaintance  pushes  an  intimacy  much,  and 
besides  I  had  feared  my  silence  during  the  previous 
evening  might  have  produced  the  impression  of  indif¬ 
ference,  on  which  reflection  I  had  resolved  to  make 
myself  agreeable  at  our  next  meeting. 


32 


MR.  ISAACS. 


Truly,  had  I  asked  myself  the  cause  of  a  certain 
attraction  I  felt  for  Mr.  Isaacs,  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  find  an  answer.  I  am  generally  extremely 
shy  of  persons  who  begin  an  acquaintance  by  making 
confidences,  and,  in  spite  of  Isaacs’  charm  of  man¬ 
ner,  I  had  certainly  speculated  on  his  reasons  for 
suddenly  telling  an  entire  stranger  his  whole  story. 
My  southern  birth  had  not  modified  the  northern 
character  born  in  me,  though  it  gave  me  the  more 
urbane  veneer  of  the  Italian;  and  the  early  study 
of  Larocliefoucauld  and  his  school  had  not  predis¬ 
posed  me  to  an  unlimited  belief  in  the  disinterested¬ 
ness  of  mankind.  Still  there  was  something  about 
the  man  which  seemed  to  sweep  away  unbelief  and 
cynicism  and  petty  distrust,  as  the  bright  mountain 
freshet  sweeps  away  the  wretched  little  mud  puddles 
and  the  dust  and  impurities  from  the  bed  of  a  half 
dry  stream.  It  was  a  new  sensation  and  a  novel  era 
in  my  experience  of  humanity,  and  the  desire  to  get 
behind  that  noble  forehead,  and  see  its  inmost  work¬ 
ings,  was  strong  beyond  the  strength  of  puny  doubts 
and  preconceived  prejudice.  Therefore,  when  Isaacs 
appeared,  looking  like  the  sun-god  for  all  his  quiet 
dress  of  gray  and  his  unobtrusive  manner,  I  felt  the 
“little  thrill  of  pleasure”  so  aptly  compared  by 
Swinburne  to  the  soft  touch  of  a  hand  stroking  the 
outer  hair. 

“  What  a  glorious  day  after  all  that  detestable 
rain!  ”  were  his  first  words.  “Three  mortal  months 
of  water,  mud,  and  Mackintoshes,  not  to  mention  the 


MR.  ISAACS. 


33 


agreeable  sensation  of  being  glued  to  a  wet  saddle 
with  your  feet  in  water-buckets,  and  mountain  tor¬ 
rents  running  up  and  down  the  inside  of  your  sleeves, 
in  defiance  of  the  laws  of  gravitation ;  such  is  life  in 
the  monsoon.  Pah!  ”  And  he  threw  himself  down 
on  a  cane  chair  and  stretched  out  his  dainty  feet,  so 
that  the  sunlight  through  the  crack  of  the  half-closed 
door  might  fall  comfortingly  on  his  toes,  and  remind 
him  that  it  was  fine  outside. 

“  What  have  you  been  doing  all  day?  ”  I  asked,  for 
lack  of  a  better  question,  not  having  yet  recovered 
from  the  mental  stagnation  induced  by  the  last  num¬ 
ber  of  the  serial  story  I  had  been  reading. 

“Oh  —  I  don’t  know.  Are  you  married?”  he 
asked  irrelevantly. 

“God  forbid!”  I  answered  reverently,  and  with 
some  show  of  feeling. 

“Amen,”  was  the  answer.  “As  for  me  —  I  am, 
and  my  wives  have  been  quarrelling.” 

“Your  wives!  Did  I  understand  you  to  use  the 
plural  number?” 

“  Why,  yes.  I  have  three ;  that  is  the  worst  of  it. 
If  there  were  only  two,  they  might  get  on  better. 
You  know  Two  are  company  and  three  are  none,’ 
as  your  proverb  has  it.”  He  said  this  reflectively, 
as  if  meditating  a  reduction  in  the  number. 

The  application  of  the  proverb  to  such  a  case  was 
quite  new  in  my  recollection.  As  for  the  plural¬ 
ity  of  my  friend’s  conjugal  relations,  I  remembered 
he  was  a  Mohammedan,  and  my  surprise  vanished. 

D 


34 


ME.  ISAACS. 


Isaacs  was  lost  in  meditation.  Suddenly  he  rose  to 
his  feet,  and  took  a  cigarette  from  the  table. 

“I  wonder” — the  match  would  not  light,  and  he 
struggled  a  moment  with  another.  Then  he  blew  a 
great  cloud  of  smoke,  and  sat  down  in  a  different 
chair  —  “I  wonder  whether  a  fourth  would  act  as  a 
fly-wheel,”  and  he  looked  straight  at  me,  as  if  asking 
my  opinion. 

I  had  never  been  in  direct  relations  with  a  Mus¬ 
sulman  of  education  and  position.  To  be  asked 
point-blank  whether  I  thought  four  wives  better  than 
three  on  general  principles,  and  quite  independently 
of  the  contemplated  spouse,  was  a  little  embarrassing. 
He  seemed  perfectly  capable  of  marrying  another 
before  dinner  for  the  sake  of  peace,  and  I  do  not 
believe  he  would  have  considered  it  by  any  means  a 
bad  move. 

“Diamond  cut  diamond,”  I  said.  “You  too  have 
proverbs,  and  one  of  them  is  that  a  man  is  better 
sitting  than  standing;  better  lying  than  sitting; 
better  dead  than  lying  down.  Now  I  should  apply 
that  same  proverb  to  marriage.  A  man  is,  by  a  simi¬ 
lar  successive  reasoning,  better  with  no  wife  at  all 
than  with  three.” 

His  subtle  mind  caught  the  flaw  instantly.  “To 
be  without  a  wife  at  all  would  be  about  as  conducive 
to  happiness  as  to  be  dead.  Negative  happiness, 
very  negative.” 

“Negative  happiness  is  better  than  positive  dis¬ 
comfort.” 


* 


MR.  ISAACS. 


85 


“Come,  come,”  he  answered,  “we  are  bandying 
terms  and  words,  as  if  empty  breath  amounted  to 
anything  hut  inanity.  Do  you  really  doubt  the  value 
of  the  institution  of  marriage  ?  ” 

“No.  Marriage  is  a  very  good  thing  when  two 
people  are  so  poor  that  they  depend  on  each  other, 
mutually,  for  daily  bread,  or  if  they  are  rich  enough 
to  live  apart.  For  a  man  in  my  own  position 
marriage  would  be  the  height  of  folly;  an  act  of  rash¬ 
ness  only  second  to  deliberate  suicide.  Now,  you 
are  rich,  and  if  you  had  but  one  wife,  she  living  in 
Delhi  and  you  in  Simla,  you  would  doubtless  be 
very  happy.” 

“ There  is  something  in  that, ”  said  Isaacs.  “She 
might  mope  and  beat  the  servants,  but  she  could  not 
quarrel  if  she  were  alone.  Besides,  it  is  so  much 
easier  to  look  after  one  camel  than  three.  I  think  I 
must  try  it.” 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  he  seemed  set¬ 
tling  the  destiny  of  the  two  who  were  to  be  shelved 
in  favour  of  a  monogamic  experiment.  Presently  he 
asked  if  I  had  brought  any  horses,  and  hearing  I  had 
not,  offered  me  amount,  and  proposed  we  should  ride 
round  Jako,  and  perhaps,  if  there  were  time,  take  a 
look  at  Annandale  in  the  valley,  where  there  was 
polo,  and  a  racing-ground.  I  gladly  accepted,  and 
Isaacs  despatched  one  of  my  servants,  the  faithful 
Kiramat  Ali,  to  order  the  horses.  Meantime  the 
conversation  turned  on  the  expedition  to  Kabul  to 
avenge  the  death  of  Cavagnari.  I  found  Isaacs  held 


MR.  ISAACS. 


the  same  view  that  I  did  in  regard  to  the  whole  busi¬ 
ness.  He  thought  the  sending  of  four  Englishmen, 
with  a  handful  of  native  soldiers  of  the  guide  regi¬ 
ment  to  protect  them,  a  piece  of  unparalleled  folly, 
on  a  par  with  the  whole  English  policy  in  regard  to 
Afghanistan. 

“You  English  —  pardon  me,  I  forgot  you  did  not 
belong  to  them  — ■  the  English,  then,  have  performed 
most  of  their  great  acts  of  valour  as  a  direct  conse¬ 
quence  of  having  wantonly  exposed  themselves  in 
situations  where  no  sane  man  would  have  placed 
himself.  Look  at  Balaclava;  think  of  the  things 
they  did  in  the  mutiny,  and  in  the  first  Afghan  war; 
look  at  the  mutiny  itself,  the  result  of  a  hair-brained 
idea  that  a  country  like  India  could  be  held  for  ever 
with  no  better  defences  than  the  trustworthiness  of 
native  officers,  and  the  gratitude  of  the  people  for 
the  ‘kindly  British  rule.’  Poor  Cavagnari!  when  he 
was  here  last  summer,  before  leaving  on  his  mission, 
he  said  several  times  he  should  never  come  back. 
And  yet  no  better  man  could  have  been  chosen, 
whether  for  politics  or  fighting;  if  only  they  had 
had  the  sense  to  protect  him.” 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  eulogy,  my  friend 
dropped  his  exhausted  cigarette,  lit  another,  and 
appeared  again  absorbed  in  the  triangulation  of  his 
matrimonial  problem.  I  imagined  him  weighing  the 
question  whether  he  should  part  with  Zobeida  and 
Zuleika  and  keep  Amina,  or  send  Zuleika  and  Amina 
about  their  business,  and  keep  Zobeida  to  be  a  light 


MR.  ISAACS. 


37 


in  his  household.  At  last  Kiramat  Ali,  on  the  watch 
in  the  verandah,  announced  the  s  a  ices  with  the 
horses,  and  we  descended. 

I  had  expected  that  a  man  of  Isaacs’  tastes  and 
habits  would  not  be  stingy  about  his  horseflesh,  and 
so  was  prepared  for  the  character  of  the  animals  that 
awaited  us.  They  were  two  superb  Arab  stallions, 
one  of  them  being  a  rare  specimen  of  the  weight- 
carrying  kind,  occasionally  seen  in  the  far  East. 
Small  head,  small  feet,  and  feather-tailed,  but  broad 
in  the  quarters  and  deep  in  the  chest,  able  to  carry  a 
twelve-stone  man  for  hours  at  the  stretching,  even 
gallop,  that  never  trembles  and  never  tires ;  sure¬ 
footed  as  a  mule,  and  tender-tempered  as  a  baby. 

So  we  mounted  the  gentle  creatures  and  rode  away. 
The  mountain  on  which  Simla  is  situated  has  a 
double  summit,  like  a  Swiss  peak,  the  one  higher 
than  the  other.  On  the  lower  height  and  the  neck 
between  the  two  is  built  the  town,  and  the  bungalows 
used  as  offices  and  residences  for  the  Government 
officials  cover  a  very  considerable  area.  “  Jako,7’  the 
higher  eminence,  is  thickly  covered  with  a  forest  of 
primeval  rhododendrons  and  pines,  and  though  there 
are  outlying  bungalows  and  villas  scattered  about 
among  the  trees  near  the  town,  they  are  so  far 
back  from  the  main  road,  reserved  as  I  have  said  for 
the  use  of  the  Viceroy,  as  far  as  driving  is  concerned, 
that  they  are  not  seen  in  riding  along  the  shady  way; 
and  on  the  opposite  side,  where  the  trees  are  thin,  the 
magnificent  view  looks  far  out  over  the  spurs  of  the 


38 


MR.  ISAACS. 


mountains,  the  only  human  habitation  visible  being  a 
Catholic  convent,  which  rears  its  little  Italian  cam¬ 
panile  against  the  blue  sky,  and  rather  adds  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scene  than  otherwise.  As  we  rode 
along  we  continued  our  talk  about  the  new  Afghan 
Avar,  though  neither  of  us  Avas  very  much  in  the 
humour  for  animated  conversation.  The  SAveet  scent 
of  the  pines,  the  matchless  motion  of  the  Arab,  and 
the  joyous  feeling  that  the  worst  part  of  the  tropical 
year  Avas  passed,  Avere  enough  for  me,  and  I  drank  in 
the  high,  rarefied  air,  Avith  the  intense  delight  of  a 
man  avIio  has  been  smothered  with  dust  and  heat, 
and  then  steamed  to  a  jelly  by  a  spring  and  summer 
in  the  plains  of  Hindustan. 

The  road  abounds  in  sharp  turns,  and  I,  as  the 
heavier  mount,  rode  on  the  inside  as  Ave  Avent  round 
the  mountain.  On  reaching  the  open  part  on  the 
farther  side,  Ave  dreAV  rein  for  a  moment  to  look  down 
at  the  deep  valleys,  iioav  dark  Avitli  the  early  shade,  at 
the  higher  peaks  red  with  the  Avestering  sun,  and 
at  the  black  masses  of  foliage,  through  which  some 
giant  trunk  here  and  there  caught  a  lingering  ray  of 
the  departing  light.  Then,  as  Ave  felt  the  cool  of  the 
evening  coming  on,  Ave  Avlieeled  and  scampered  along 
the  level  stretch,  stirrup  to  stirrup  and  knee  to  knee. 
The  sharp  corner  at  the  end  pulled  us  up,  but  before 
Ave  had  quite  reined  in  our  horses,  as  delighted  as  Ave 
to  have  a  couple  of  minutes’  straight  run,  Ave  swung 
past  the  angle  and  cannoned  into  a  man  ambling 
peaceably  along  Avitli  his  reins  on  one  finger  and  his 


MR.  ISAACS. 


39 


large  gray  felt  hat  flapping  at  the  hack  of  his  neck. 
There  was  a  moment’s  confusion,  profuse  apologies 
on  our  part,  and  some  ill-concealed  annoyance  on  the 
part  of  the  victim,  who  was,  however,  only  a  little 
jostled  and  taken  by  surprise. 

“Really,  sir,”  he  began.  “Oh!  Mr.  Isaacs.  No 
harm  done,  I  assure  you,  that  is,  not  much.  Bad 
thing  riding  fast  round  corners.  No  harm,  no  harm, 
not  much.  How  are  you  ?  ”  all  in  a  breath. 

“  How  d’ye  do !  Mr.  Gliyrkins ;  my  friend  Mr. 
Griggs.” 

“  The  real  offender,”  I  added  in  a  conciliatory  tone, 
for  I  had  kept  my  place  on  the  inside. 

“Mr.  Griggs?”  said  Mr.  Currie  Gliyrkins.  “Mr. 
Griggs  of  Allahabad?  Daily  Howler?  Yes,  yes, 
corresponded;  glad  to  see  you  in  the  flesh.” 

I  did  not  think  he  looked  particularly  glad.  He 
was  a  Revenue  Commissioner  residing  in  Mudnug- 
ger;  a  rank  Conservative;  a  regular  old  “John  Com¬ 
pany  ”  man,  with  whom  I  had  had  more  than  one  tiff 
in  the  columns  of  the  Hoivler ,  leading  to  considerable 
correspondence. 

“  I  trust  that  our  collision  in  the  flesh  has  had  no 
worse  results  than  our  tilts  in  print,  Mr.  Gliyrkins?” 

“Not  at  all.  Oh  don’t  mention  it.  Bad  enough, 
though,  but  no  harm  done,  none  whatever,”  pulling 
up  and  looking  at  me  as  he  pronounced  the  last  two 
words  with  a  peculiarly  English  slowness  after  a 
very  quick  sentence. 

While  he  was  speaking,  I  was  aware  of  a  pair  of 


40 


MR.  ISAACS. 


riders  walking  tlieir  horses  toward  us,  and  apparently 
struggling  to  suppress  tlieir  amusement  at  the  mis¬ 
hap  to  the  old  gentleman,  which  they  must  have  wit¬ 
nessed.  In  truth,  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  who  was  stout  and 
rode  a  broad-backed  obese  “tat,”  can  have  presented 
no  very  dignified  appearance,  for  he  was  jerked  half 
out  of  the  saddle  by  the  concussion,  and  his  near  leg, 
returning  to  its  place,  had  driven  his  nether  garment 
half  way  to  his  knee,  while  the  large  felt  hat  was 
settling  back  on  to  his  head  at  a  rakish  angle,  and 
his  coat  collar  had  gone  well  up  the  back  of  his  neck. 

“Dear  uncle,”  said  the  lady  as  she  rode  up,  “I 
hope  you  are  not  hurt?  ”  She  was  very  handsome  as 
she  sat  there  trying  not  to  laugh.  A  lithe  figure  in 
a  gray  habit  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  fair  as  a 
Swede,  but  with  dark  eyes  and  heavy  lashes.  Just 
then  she  was  showing  her  brilliant  teeth,  ostensibly 
in  delight  at  her  dear  uncle’s  escape,  and  her  whole 
expression  was  animated  and  amused.  Her  compan¬ 
ion  was  a  soldierly  looking  young  Englishman,  with 
a  heavy  moustache  and  a  large  nose.  A  certain 
devil-may-care  look  about  his  face  was  attractive  as 
he  sat  carelessly  watching  us.  I  noticed  his  long 
stirrups  and  the  curb  rein  hanging  loose,  while  he 
held  the  snaffle,  and  concluded  he  was  a  cavalry 
officer.  Isaacs  bowed  low  to  the  lady  and  wheeled 
his  horse.  She  replied  by  a  nod,  indifferent  enough; 
but  as  he  turned,  her  eyes  instantly  went  back  to 
him,  and  a  pleasant  thoughtful  look  passed  over  her 
face,  which  betrayed  at  least  a  trifling  interest  in  the 
stranger,  if  stranger  he  were. 


ME,.  ISAACS. 


41 


All  tills  time  Mr.  Ghyrkins  was  talking  and  ask¬ 
ing  questions  of  me.  When  had  I  come?  what 
brought  me  here  ?  how  long  would  I  stay  ?  and  so  on, 
showing  that  whether  friendly  or  not  he  had  an 
interest  in  my  movements.  In  answering  his  ques¬ 
tions  I  found  an  opportunity  of  calling  the  Queen 
the  “ Empress,”  of  lauding  Lord  Beaconsfield’s  policy 
in  India,  and  of  congratulating  Mr.  Ghyrkins  upon 
the  state  of  his  district,  with  which  he  had  nothing 
to  do,  of  course ;  but  he  swallowed  the  bait,  all  in  a 
breath,  as  he  seemed  to  do  everything.  Then  he 
introduced  us. 

“  Katharine,  you  know  Mr.  Isaacs ;  Mr.  Griggs, 
Miss  Westonhaugh,  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare,  Mr. 
Isaacs.” 

We  bowed  and  rode  back  together  over  the  straight 
piece  we  passed  before  the  encounter.  Isaacs  and 
the  Englishman  walked  their  horses  on  each  side  of 
Miss  Westonhaugh,  and  Ghyrkins  and  I  brought  up 
the  rear.  I  tried  to  turn  the  conversation  to  Isaacs, 
but  with  little  result. 

“  Yes,  yes,  good  fellow  Isaacs,  for  a  fire-worshipper, 
or  whatever  he  is.  Good  judge  of  a  horse.  Lots  of 
rupees  too.  Queer  fish.  By-the-bye,  Mr.  Griggs, 
this  new  expedition  is  going  to  cost  us  something 
handsome,  eh?” 

“Why,  yes.  I  doubt  whether  you  will  get  off 
under  ten  millions  sterling.  And  where  is  it  to 
come  from?  You  will  have  a  nice  time  making  your 
assessments  in  Bengal,  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  and  we  shall 
have  an  income-tax  and  all  sorts  of  agreeable  things.” 


42 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“ Income-tax?  Well,  I  tliink  not.  You  see,  Mr. 
Griggs,  it  would  hit  the  members  of  the  council,  so 
they  won’t  do  it,  for  their  own  sakes,  and  the  Viceroy 
too.  Ha,  ha,  how  do  you  think  Lord  Lytton  would 
like  an  income-tax,  eh?”  And  the  old  fellow 
chuckled. 

We  reached  the  end  of  the  straight,  and  Isaacs 
reined  in  and  bid  Miss  Westonhaugh  and  her  com¬ 
panion  good  evening.  I  bowed  from  where  I  was, 
and  took  Mr.  Ghyrkins’  outstretched  hand.  He  was 
in  a  good  humour  again,  and  called  out  to  us  to  come 
and  see  him,  as  we  rode  away.  I  thought  to  myself 
I  certainly  would;  and  we  paced  back,  crossing  the 
open  stretch  for  the  third  time. 

It  was  almost  dark  under  the  trees  as  we  re-entered 
the  woods ;  I  pulled  out  a  cheroot  and  lit  it.  Isaacs 
did  the  same,  and  we  walked  our  horses  along  in 
silence.  I  was  thinking  of  the  little  picture  I  had  just 
seen.  The  splendid  English  girl  on  her  thoroughbred 
beside  the  beautiful  Arab  steed  and  his  graceful 
rider.  What  a  couple,  I  thought :  what  noble  speci¬ 
mens  of  great  races.  Why  did  not  this  fiery  young 
Persian,  with  his  wealth,  his  beauty,  and  his  talents, 
wed  some  such  wife  as  that,  some  high-bred  English¬ 
woman,  who  should  love  him  and  give  him  home  and 
children- — -and,  I  was  forced  to  add,  commonplace 
happiness  ?  How  often  does  it  happen  that  some 
train  of  thought,  unacknowledged  almost  to  our¬ 
selves,  runs  abruptly  into  a  blind  alley;  especially 
when  we  try  to  plan  out  the  future  life  of  some  one 


MR.  ISAACS. 


43 


else,  or  to  sketch  for  him  what  we  should  call  happi¬ 
ness.  The  accidental  confronting  of  two  individuals 
pleases  the  eye,  we  unite  them  in  our  imagination, 
carrying  on  the  picture  before  us,  and  suddenly  we 
find  ourselves  in  a  quagmire  of  absurd  incongruities. 
Now  what  could  be  more  laughable  than  to  suppose 
the  untamed,  and  probably  untameable  young  man 
at  my  side,  with  his  three  wives,  his  notions  about 
the  stars  and  his  Mussulman  faith,  bound  for  life  to 
a  girl  like  Miss  Westonhaugh?  A  wise  man  of  the 
East  trying  to  live  the  life  of  an  English  country 
gentleman,  hunting  in  pink  and  making  speeches 
on  the  local  hustings !  I  smiled  to  myself  in  the  dark 
and  puffed  at  my  cigar. 

Meanwhile  Isaacs  was  palpably  uneasy.  First  he 
kicked  his  feet  free  of  the  stirrups,  and  put  them 
back  again.  Then  he  hummed  a  few  words  of  a  Per¬ 
sian  song  and  let  his  cigar  go  out,  after  which  he 
swore  loudly  in  Arabic  at  the  eternal  matches  that 
never  would  light.  Finally  he  put  his  horse  into 
a  hand  gallop,  which  could  not  last  on  such  a  road 
in  the  dark,  and  at  last  he  broke  down  completely  in 
his  efforts  to  do  impossible  things,  and  began  talking 
to  me. 

“  You  know  Mr.  Ghyrkins  by  correspondence, 
then  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  and  by  controversy.  And  you,  I  see,  know 
Miss  Westonhaugh  ?  ” 

“  Yes ;  what  do  you  think  of  her?  ” 

“A  charming  creature  of  her  type.  Fair  and 


44 


MB,.  ISAACS. 


English,  she  will  he  fat  at  thirty-five,  and  will  prob¬ 
ably  paint  at  forty,  hut  at  present  she  is  perfection 
—  of  her  kind  of  course,”  I  added,  not  wishing  to 
engage  my  friend  in  the  defence  of  his  three  wives 
on  the  score  of  beauty. 

“I  see  very  little  of  Englishwomen,”  said  Isaacs. 
“  My  position  is  peculiar,  and  though  the  men,  many 
of  whom  I  know  quite  intimately,  often  ask  me  to 
their  houses,  I  fancy  when  I  meet  their  women  I  can 
detect  a  certain  scorn  of  my  nationality,  a  certain 
undefinable  manner  toward  me,  by  which  I  suppose 
they  mean  to  convey  to  my  obtuse  comprehension 
that  I  am  but  a  step  better  than  a  ‘  native  ’  —  a 
4  nigger  ’  in  fact,  to  use  the  term  they  love  so  well. 
So  I  simply  avoid  them,  as  a  rule,  for  my  temper  is 
hasty.  Of  course  I  understand  it  well  enough ;  they 
are  brought  up  or  trained  by  their  fathers  and  hus¬ 
bands  to  regard  the  native  Indian  as  an  inferior 
being,  an  opinion  in  which,  on  the  whole,  I  heartily 
concur.  But  they  go  a  step  farther  and  include  all 
Asiatics  in  the  same  category.  I  do  not  choose  to 
be  confounded  with  a  race  I  consider  worn  out  and 
effete.  As  for  the  men,  it  is  different.  They  know 
I  am  rich  and  influential  in  many  ways  that  are  use¬ 
ful  to  them  now,  and  they  hope  that  the  fortunes  of 
war  or  revolution  may  give  them  a  chance  of  robbing 
me  hereafter,  in  which  they  are  mistaken.  Now 
there  is  our  stout  friend,  whom  we  nearly  brought  to 
grief  a  few  minutes  ago;  he  is  always  extremely 
civil,  and  never  meets  me  that  he  does  not  renew 
his  invitation  to  visit  him.” 


i 


MR.  ISAACS. 


45 


“  I  should  like  to  see  something1  more  of  Mr.  Currie 

O 

Ghyrkins  myself.  I  do  not  believe  he  is  half  as  bad 
as  I  thought.  Do  you  ever  go  there?” 

“Sometimes.  Yes,  on  second  thoughts  I  believe  I 
call  on  Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins  pretty  often.”  Then 
after  a  pause  he  added,  “I  like  her.” 

I  pointed  out  the  confusion  of  genders.  Isaacs 
must  have  smiled  to  himself  in  the  gloom,  but  he 
answered  quietly  — 

“I  mean  Miss  Westonhaugh.  I  like  her  —  yes,  I 
am  quite  sure  I  do.  She  is  beautiful  and  sensible, 
though  if  she  stays  here  much  longer  she  will  be  like 
all  the  rest.  We  will  go  and  see  them  to-morrow. 
Here  we  are;  just  in  time  for  dinner.  Come  and 
smoke  afterwards.” 


46 


ME.  ISAACS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  loose  robe  of  light  material  from  Kashmir 
thrown  around  him,  Isaacs  half  sat,  half  lay,  on  the 
soft  dark  cushions  in  the  corner  of  his  outer  room. 
His  feet  were  slipperless,  Eastern  fashion,  and  his 
head  covered  with  an  embroidered  cap  of  curious 
make.  By  the  yellow  light  of  the  hanging  lamps  he 
was  reading  an  Arabic  book,  and  his  face  wore  a 
puzzled  look  that  sat  strangely  on  the  bold  features. 
As  I  entered  the  book  fell  back  on  the  cushion,  sink¬ 
ing  deep  into  the  down  by  its  weight,  and  one  of  the 
heavy  gold  clasps  clanged  sharply  as  it  turned.  Pie 
looked  up,  but  did  not  rise,  and  greeted  me,  smiling, 
with  the  Arabic  salutation  — • 

“Peace  be  with  you!  ” 

“And  with  you,  peace,”  I  answered  in  the  same 
tongue.  He  smiled  again  at  my  unfamiliar  pronun¬ 
ciation.  I  established  myself  on  the  divan  near  him, 
and  inquired  whether  he  had  arrived  at  any  satisfac¬ 
tory  solution  of  his  domestic  difficulties. 

“My  father,”  he  said,  “upon  whom  be  peace,  had 
but  one  wife,  my  mother.  You  know  Mussulmans 
are  allowed  four  lawful  wives.  Here  is  the  passage 
in  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  chapter,  4  If  ye  fear 


MR.  ISAACS. 


47 


that  ye  shall  not  act  with  equity  towards  orphans  of 
the  female  sex,  take  in  marriage  of  such  other  women 
as  ,please  you,  two,  or  three,  or  four,  and  not  more. 
But,  if  ye  fear  that  ye  cannot  act  equitably  towards 
so  many,  marry  one  only,  or  the  slaves  which  ye  shall 
have  acquired.’ 

“The  first  part  of  this  passage,”  continued  Isaacs, 
“is  disputed;  I  mean  the  words  referring  to  orphans. 
But  the  latter  portion  is  plain  enough.  When  the 
apostle  warns  those  who  fear  they  4  cannot  act  equit¬ 
ably  towards  so  many,  ’  I  am  sure  that  in  his  wisdom 
he  meant  something  more  by  ‘equitable’  treatment 
than  the  mere  supplying  of  bodily  wants.  He  meant 
us  to  so  order  our  households  that  there  should  be  no 
jealousies,  no  heart-burnings,  no  unnecessary  troub¬ 
ling  of  the  peace.  Now  woman  is  a  thing  of  the 
devil,  jealous ;  and  to  manage  a  number  of  such  creat¬ 
ures  so  that  they  shall  be  even  passably  harmonious 
among  themselves  is  a  fearful  task,  soul-wearying, 
heart-hardening,  never-ending,  leading  to  no  result.” 

“Just  what  I  told  you;  a  man  is  better  with  no 
wife  at  all  than  with  three.  But  why  do  you  talk 
about  such  matters  with  me,  an  unbeliever,  a  Chris¬ 
tian,  wrho,  in  the  words  of  your  prophet,  ‘  shall 
swallow  down  nothing  but  fire  into  my  belly,  and 
shall  broil  in  raging  flames  ’  when  I  die?  Surely  it 
is  contrary  to  the  custom  of  your  co-religionists ;  and 
how  can  you  expect  an  infidel  Frank  to  give  you 
advice?” 

“  I  don’t,”  laconically  replied  my  host. 


48 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“  Besides,  with,  your  views  of  women  in  general, 
their  vocation, their  aims,  and  their  future  state,  is  it 
at  all  likely  that  we  should  ever  arrive  at  even  a  fair 
discussion  of  marriage  and  marriage  laws?  With 
us,  women  have  souls,  and,  what  is  a  great  deal  more, 
seem  likely  to  have  votes.  They  certainly  have  the 
respectful  and  courteous  service  of  a  large  proportion 
of  the  male  sex.  You  call  a  woman  a  thing  of  the 
devil ;  we  call  her  an  angel  from  heaven ;  and  though 
some  eccentric  persons  like  myself  refuse  to  ally 
themselves  for  life  with  any  woman,  I  confess,  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  that  it  is  because  I  cannot  con¬ 
template  the  constant  society  of  an  angel  with  the 
degree  of  appreciation  such  a  privilege  justly  de¬ 
serves  ;  and  I  suspect  that  most  confirmed  bachelors, 
knowingly  or  unconsciously,  think  as  I  do.  The 
Buddhists  are  not  singular  in  their  theory  that  per¬ 
manent  happiness  should  be  the  object.” 

“They  say,”  said  Isaacs,  quickly  interrupting, 
“  that  the  aim  of  the  ignorant  is  pleasure ;  the  pur¬ 
suit  of  the  wise,  happiness.  Pray,  under  which 
category  would  you  class  marriage?  I  suppose  it 
comes  under  one  or  the  other.” 

“  I  cannot  say  I  see  the  force  of  that.  Look  at  your 
own  case,  since  you  have  introduced  it.” 

“Never  mind  my  own  case.  I  mean  with  your 
ideas  of  one  wife,  and  heavenly  woman,  and  voting, 
and  domestic  joy,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Take  the 

ideal  creature  you  rave  about - ” 

“I  never  rave  about  anything.” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


49 


“Take  the  fascinating  female  you  describe,  and 
for  the  sake  of  argument  imagine  yourself  very  poor 
or  very  rich,  since  you  would  not  enter  wedlock  in 
your  present  circumstances.  Suppose  you  married 
your  object  of  4  courteous  service  and  respectful 
adoration ;  ’  which  should  you  say  you  would  attain 
thereby,  pleasure  or  happiness  ?  ” 

“  Pleasure  is  but  the  refreshment  that  cheers  us  in 
the  pursuit  of  true  happiness,”  I  answered,  hoping  to 
evade  the  direct  question  by  a  sententious  phrase. 

“I  will  not  let  you  off  so  easily.  You  shall 
answer  my  question,”  he  said.  He  looked  full  at  me 
with  a  deep  searching  gaze  that  seemed  hardly  war¬ 
ranted  by  the  lightness  of  the  argument.  I  hesi¬ 
tated,  and  he  impatiently  leaned  forward,  uncrossing 
his  legs  and  clasping  his  hands  over  one  knee  to 
bring  himself  nearer  to  me. 

“Pleasure  or  happiness ? ”  he  repeated,  “which  is 
it  to  be?  ” 

A  sudden  light  flashed  over  my  obscured  intellect. 

“Both,”  I  answered.  ‘‘Could  you  see  the  ideal 
woman  as  I  would  fain  paint  her  to  you,  you  would 
understand  me  better.  The  pleasure  you  enjoy  in 
the  society  of  a  noble  and  beautiful  woman  should  be 
but  the  refreshment  by  the  wayside  as  you  journey 
through  life  together.  The  day  will  come  when  she 
will  be  beautiful  no  longer,  only  noble  and  good, 
and  true  to  you  as  to  herself ;  and  then,  if  pleasure 
has  been  to  you  what  it  should  be,  you  will  find  that 
in  the  happiness  attained  it  is  no  longer  counted,  or 

E 


50 


MR.  ISAACS. 


needed,  or  thought  of.  It  will  have  served  its  end, 
as  the  crib  holds  the  ship  in  her  place  while  she  is 
building;  and  when  your  white-winged  vessel  has 
smoothly  glided  off  into  the  great  ocean  of  happiness, 
the  crib  and  the  stocks  and  the  artificial  supports 
will  fall  to  pieces  and  be  forgotten  for  ever.  Yet 
have  they  had  a  purpose,  and  have  borne  a  very 
important  part  in  the  life  of  your  ship.” 

Having  heard  me  attentively  till  I  had  finished, 
Isaacs  relaxed  his  hold  on  his  knee  and  threw  him¬ 
self  back  on  the  cushions,  as  if  to  entrench  himself 
for  a  better  fight.  I  had  made  an  impression  on  him, 
but  he  was  not  the  man  to  own  it  easily.  Presumably 
to  gain  time,  he  called  for  hookahs  and  sherbet,  and 
though  the  servants  moved  noiselessly  in  preparing 
them,  their  presence  was  an  interruption. 

When  we  were  settled  again  he  had  taken  a  nearly 
upright  position  on  the  couch,  and  as  he  pulled  at 
the  long  tube  his  face  assumed  that  stolid  look  of 
Oriental  indifference  which  is  the  most  discouraging1 
shower-bath  to  the  persuasive  powers.  I  had  really 
no  interest  in  converting  him  to  my  own  point  of 
view  about  women.  Honestly,  was  it  my  own  point 
of  view  at  all  ?  Would  anything  under  heaven 
induce  me,  Paul  Griggs,  rich,  or  poor,  or  comfort¬ 
ably  off,  to  marry  any  one  —  Miss  Westonhaugli,  for 
instance?  Probably  not.  But  then  my  preference 
for  single  blessedness  did  not  prevent  me  from 
believing  that  women  have  souls.  That  morning  the 
question  of  the  marriage  of  the  whole  universe  had 


MR.  ISAACS. 


51 


been  a  matter  of  the  utmost  indifference,  and  now  I, 
a  confirmed  and  hopelessly  contented  bachelor,  was 
trying  to  convince  a  man  with  three  wives  that  matri¬ 
mony  was  a  most  excellent  thing  in  its  way,  and  that 
the  pleasure  of  the  honeymoon  was  but  the  faint 
introduction  to  the  bliss  of  the  silver  wedding.  It 
certainly  must  be  Isaacs’  own  doing.  He  had 
launched  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  and  had  taken  me 
in  tow.  I  had  a  strong  suspicion  that  he  wanted  to 
be  convinced,  and  was  playing  indifference  to  soothe 
his  conscience. 

“  AVell,”  said  I  at  last,  “have  you  any  fault  to  find 
with  my  reasoning  or  my  simile?” 

“With  your  simile  —  none.  It  is  faultlessly  per- 
feet.  You  have  not  mixed  up  your  metaphors  in  the 
least.  Crib,  stocks,  ocean,  ship  —  all  correct,  and 
very  nautical.  As  for  your  reasoning,  I  do  not 
believe  there  is  anything  in  it.  I  do  not  believe  that 
pleasure  leads  to  happiness;  I  do  not  believe  that 
a  woman  has  a  soul,  and  I  deny  the  whole  argument 
from  beginning  to  end.  There,”  he  added  with  a 
smile  that  belied  the  brusqueness  of  his  words,  “  that 
is  my  position.  Talk  me  out  of  it  if  you  can;  the 
night  is  long,  and  my  patience  as  that  of  the  ass.” 

“I  do  not  think  this  is  a  case  for  rigid  application 
of  logic.  When  the  feelings  are  concerned  —  and 
where  can  they  be  more  concerned  than  in  our  inter¬ 
course  with  women?  —  the  only  way  to  arrive  at  any 
conclusion  is  by  a  sort  of  trying-on  process,  imagin¬ 
ing  ourselves  in  the  position  indicated,  and  striving 


52 


MR.  ISAACS. 


to  fancy  liow  it  would  suit  ns.  Let  us  begin  in  that 
way.  Suppose  yourself  unmarried,  your  three  wives 
and  their  children  removed - ” 

“Allah  in  his  mercy  grant  it!  ”  ejaculated  Isaacs 
with  great  fervour. 

“ - removed  from  the  question  altogether.  Then 

imagine  yourself  thrown  into  daily  conversation  with 
some  beautiful  woman  who  has  read  what  you  have 
read,  thought  what  you  have  thought,  and  dreamed 
the  dreams  of  a  nobler  destiny  that  have  visited  you 
in  waking  and  sleeping  hours.  A  woman  who,  as 
she  learned  your  strange  story,  should  weep  for  the 
pains  you  suffered  and  rejoice  for  the  difficulties 
overcome,  who  should  understand  your  half  spoken 
thoughts  and  proudly  sympathise  in  your  unuttered 
aspirations ;  in  whom  you  might  see  the  twin  nature 
to  your  own,  and  detect  the  strong  spirit  and  the 
brave  soul,  half  revealed  through  the  feminine  gen¬ 
tleness  and  modesty  that  clothe  her  as  with  a  garment. 
Imagine  all  this,  and  then  suppose  it  lay  in  your 
power,  was  a  question  of  choice,  for  you  to  take  her 
hand  in  yours  and  go  through  life  and  death  together, 
till  death  seem  life  for  the  joy  of  being  united  for 
ever.  Suppose  you  married  her  —  not  to  lock  her  up 
in  an  indolent  atmosphere  of  rosewater,  narghyles, 
and  sweetmeats,  to  die  of  inanition  or  to  pester  you 
to  death  with  complaints  and  jealousies  and  inoppor¬ 
tune  caresses ;  but  to  be  with  you  and  help  your  life 
when  you  most  need  help,  by  word  and  thought  and 
deed,  to  grow  more  and  more  a  part  of  you,  an  essen- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


53 


tial  element  of  you  in  action  or  repose,  to  part  from 
which  would  be  to  destroy  at  a  blow  the  whole  fabric 
of  your  existence.  Would  you  not  say  that  with 
such  a  woman  the  transitory  pleasure  of  early  con¬ 
versation  and  intercourse  had  been  the  stepping-stone 
to  the  lasting  happiness  of  such  a  friendship  as  you 
could  never  hope  for  in  your  old  age  among  your  sex  ? 
Would  not  her  faithful  love  and  abounding  sympathy 
be  dearer  to  you  every  day,  though  the  roses  in  her 
cheek  should  fade  and  the  bright  hair  whiten  with  the 
dust  of  life’s  journey?  Would  you  not  feel  that 
when  you  died  your  dearest  wish  must  be  to  join  her 
where  there  should  he  no  parting  —  her  from  whom 
there  could  he  no  parting  here,  short  of  death  itself? 
Would  you  not  believe  she  had  a  soul?  ” 

“  There  is  no  end  of  your  ‘  supposing,  ’  hut  it  is 
quite  pretty.  I  am  half  inclined  to  4  suppose  ’  too.’’ 
He  took  a  sip  of  sherbet  from  the  tall  crystal  goblet 
the  servant  had  placed  on  a  little  three-legged  stool 
beside  him,  and  as  he  drank  the  cool  liquid  sloAvly, 
looked  over  the  glass  into  my  eyes,  with  a  curious, 
half  earnest,  half  smiling  glance.  I  could  not  tell 
whether  my  enthusiastic  picture  of  conjugal  bliss 
amused  him  or  attracted  him,  so  I  waited  for  him  to 
speak  again. 

“Now  that  you  have  had  your  cruise  in  your  ship 
of  happiness  on  the  waters  of  your  cerulean  imagina¬ 
tion,  permit  me,  who  am  land-born  and  a  lover  of  the 
chase,  to  put  my  steed  at  a  few  fences  in  the  difficult 
country  of  unadorned  facts  over  which  I  propose  to 


54 


ME.  ISAACS. 


hunt  the  wily  fox,  matrimony.  I  have  never  hunted 
a  fox,  hut  I  can  quite  well  imagine  what  it  is  like. 

“  In  the  first  place,  it  is  all  very  well  to  suppose 
that  it  had  pleased  Allah  in  his  goodness  to  relieve 
me  of  my  three  incumbrances  —  meanwhile,  there 
they  are,  and  they  are  very  real  difficulties  I  assure 
you.  Nevertheless  are  there  means  provided  us  by 
the  foresight  of  the  apostle,  by  which  we  may  ease 
ourselves  of  domestic  burdens  when  they  are  too 
heavy  for  us  to  bear.  It  would  be  quite  within  the 
bounds  of  possibility  for  me  to  divorce  them  all  three, 
without  making  any  special  scandal.  But  if  I  did 
this  thing,  do  you  not  think  that  my  experience  of 
married  life  has  given  me  the  most  ineradicable  prej¬ 
udices  against  women  as  daily  companions  ?  Am  I 
not  persuaded  that  they  all  bicker  and  chatter  and 
nibble  sweetmeats  alike  —  absolutely  alike  ?  Or  if 
I  looked  abroad - ” 

“Stop,”  I  said,  “I  am  not  reasoner  enough  to  per¬ 
suade  you  that  all  women  have  souls.  Very  likely 
in  Persia  and  India  they  have  not.  I  only  want  you 
to  believe  that  there  may  be  women  so  fortunate  as 
to  possess  a  modicum  of  immortality.  Well,  pardon 
my  interruption,  ‘  if  you  looked  abroad, ?  as  you  were 
saying? - ” 

“  If  I  looked  abroad,  I  should  probably  discover 
little  petty  traits  of  the  same  class,  if  not  exactly 
identical.  I  know  little  of  Englishmen,  and  might 
be  the  more  readily  deceived.  Supposing,  if  you 
will,  that,  aftex  freeing  myself  from  all  my  present 


MR.  ISAACS. 


55 


ties,  in  order  to  start  afresli,  I  were  to  find  myself 
attracted,  by  some  English  girl  here  ”  —  there  must 
have  been  something  wrong  with  the  mouthpiece  of 
his  pipe,  for  he  examined  it  very  attentively  — 
“attracted,”  he  continued,  “by  some  one,  for  in¬ 
stance,  by  Miss  Westonhaugh - ”  he  stopped  short., 

So  my  inspiration  was  right.  My  little  picture, 
framed  as  we  rode  homeward,  and  indignantly  scoffed 
at  by  my  calmer  reason,  had  visited  his  brain  too. 
He  had  looked  on  the  fair  northern  woman  and  fancied 
himself  at  her  side,  her  lover,  her  husband.  All  this 
conversation  and  argument  had  been  only  a  set  plan 
to  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  contemplating  and 
discussing  such  a  union,  without  exciting  surprise 
or  comment.  I  had  been  suspecting  it  for  some  time, 
and  now  his  sudden  interest  in  his  mouthpiece,  to 
conceal  a  very  real  embarrassment,  put  the  matter 
beyond  all  doubt. 

He  was  probably  in  love,  my  acquaintance  of  two 
days.  He  saw  in  me  a  plain  person,  who  could  not 
possibly  be  a  rival,  having  some  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  he  was  in  need  of  a  confidant,  like  a 
schoolgirl.  I  reflected  that  he  was  probably  a  victim 
for  the  first  time.  There  is  very  little  romance  in 
India,  and  he  had,  of  course,  married  for  convenience 
and* respectability  rather  than  for  any  real  affection. 
His  first  passion!  This  man  who  had  been  tossed 
about  like  a  bit  of  driftwood,  who  had  by  his  own  de¬ 
termination  and  intelligence  carved  his  way  to  wealth 
and  power  in  the  teeth  of  every  difficulty.  Just 


56 


MR.  ISAACS. 


now,  in  his  embarrassment,  he  looked  very  boyish. 
His  troubles  had  left  no  wrinkles  on  his  smooth  fore¬ 
head,  his  bright  black  hair  was  untinged  by  a  single 
thread  of  gray,  and  as  he  looked  up,  after  the  pause 
that  followed  when  he  mentioned  the  name  of  the 
woman  he  loved,  there  was  a  very  really  youthful 
look  of  mingled  passion  and  distress  in  his  beautiful 
eyes. 

aI  think,  Mr.  Isaacs,  that  you  have  used  a  stronger 
argument  against  the  opinions  you  profess  to  hold 
than  I  could  have  found  in  my  whole  armoury  of 
logic.” 

As  he  looked  at  me,  the  whole  field  of  possibilities 
seemed  opened.  I  must  have  been  mistaken  in 
thinking  this  marriage  impossible  and  incongruous. 
What  incongruity  could  there  be  in  Isaacs  marrying 
Miss  Westonhaugh?  My  conclusions  were  false. 
Why  must  he  necessarily  return  with  her  to  England, 
and  wear  a  red  coat,  and  make  himself  ridiculous  at 
the  borough  elections  ?  Why  should  not  this  ideal 
couple  choose  some  happy  spot,  as  far  from  the  cor¬ 
rosive  influence  of  Anglo-Saxon  pre  judice  as  from  the 
wretched  sensualism  of  prosperous  life  east  of  the 
Mediterranean?  I  was  carried  away  by  the  idea, 
returning  with  redoubled  strength  as  a  sequel  to 
what  I  had  argued  and  to  wliat  I  had  guessed. 
“Why  not?”  was  the  question  I  repeated  to  myself 
over  and  over  again  in  the  half  minute’s  pause  after 
Isaacs  finished  speaking. 

“You  are  right,”  he  said  slowly,  his  half-closed 


MR.  ISAACS. 


57 


eyes  fixed  on  his  feet.  “Yes,  you  are  right.  Why 
not?  Indeed,  indeed,  why  not?” 

It  must  have  been  pure  guess-work,  this  reading 
of  my  thoughts.  When  he  was  last  speaking  his 
manner  was  all  indifference,  scorn  of  my  ideas,  and 
defiance  of  every  western  mode  of  reasoning.  And 
now,  apparently  by  pure  intuition,  he  gave  a  direct 
answer  to  the  direct  question  I  had  mentally  asked, 
and,  what  is  more,  his  answer  came  with  a  quiet, 
far-away  tone  of  conviction  that  had  not  a  shade  of 
unbelief  in  it.  It  was  delivered  as  monotonously 
and  naturally  as  a  Christian  says  “  Credo  in  unum 
Deum,”  as  if  it  were  not  worth  disputing;  or  as  the 
devout  Mussulman  says  “La  Illah  illallah,”  not 
stooping  to  consider  the  existence  of  any  one  bold 
enough  to  deny  the  dogma.  No  argument,  not  hours 
of  patient  reasoning,  or  weeks  of  well  directed  per¬ 
suasion,  could  have  wrought  the  change  in  the  man’s 
tone  that  came  over  it  at  the  mere  mention  of  the 
woman  he  loved.  I  had  no  share  in  his  conversion. 
My  arguments  had  been  the  excuse  by  which  he  had 

converted  himself.  Was  he  converted?  was  it  real? 

% 

“Yes  —  I  think  I  am,”  he  replied  in  the  same 
mechanical  monotonous  accent. 

I  shook  myself,  drank  some  sherbet,  and  kicked 
off  one  shoe  impatiently.  Was  I  dreaming?  or  had 
I  been  speaking  aloud,  really  putting  the  questions 
he  answered  so  quickly  and  appositively ?  Pshaw! 
a  coincidence.  I  called  the  servant  and  ordered  my 
hookah  to  be  refilled.  Isaacs  sat  still,  immovable, 


58 


MR.  ISAACS. 


lost  in  thought,  looking  at  his  toes ;  an  expression, 
almost  stupid  in  its  vacancy,  was  on  his  face,  and  the 
smoke  curled  slowly  up  in  lazy  wreaths  from  his 
neglected  narghyle. 

“You  are  converted  then  at  last?”  I  said  aloud. 
No  answer  followed  my  question;  I  watched  him 
attentively. 

“Mr.  Isaacs!  ”  still  silence,  was  it  possible  that  he 
had  fallen  asleep  ?  his  eyes  were  open,  but  I  thought 
he  was  very  pale.  His  upright  position,  however, 
belied  any  symptoms  of  unconsciousness. 

“Isaacs!  Abdul  Hafiz!  what  is  the  matter!”  He 
did  not  move.  I  rose  to  my  feet  and  knelt  beside 
him  where  he  sat  rigid,  immovable,  like  a  statue. 
Kiramat  Ali,  who  had  been  watching,  clapped  his 
hands  wildly  and  cried,  “  Wah !  wah  !  Sahib  margya !  ” 
—  “The  lord  is  dead.”  I  motioned  him  away  with 
a  gesture  and  he  held  his  peace,  cowering  in  the  cor¬ 
ner,  his  eyes  fixed  on  us.  Then  I  bent  low  as  I 
knelt  and  looked  under  my  friend’s  brows,  into  his  ‘ 
eyes.  It  was  clear  he  did  not  see  me,  though  he  was 
looking  straight  at  his  feet.  I  felt  for  his  pulse.  It 
was  very  low,  almost  imperceptible,  and  certainly 
below  forty  beats  to  the  minute.  I  took  his  right 
arm  and  tried  to  put  it  on  my  shoulder.  It  was  per¬ 
fectly  rigid.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it  —  the  man 
was  in  a  cataleptic  trance.  I  felt  for  the  pulse  again; 
it  was  lost. 

I  was  no  stranger  to  this  curious  phenomenon, 
where  the  mind  is  perfectly  awake,  but  every  bodily 


MR.  ISAACS. 


59 


faculty  is  lulled  to  sleep  beyond  possible  excitation, 
unless  the  right  means  be  employed.  I  went  out 
and  breathed  the  cool  night  air,  bidding  the  servants 
be  quiet,  as  the  sahib  was  asleep.  When  sufficiently 
refreshed  I  re-entered  the  room,  cast  off  my  slippers, 
and  stood  a  moment  by  my  friend,  who  was  as  rigid 
as  ever. 

Nature,  in  her  bountiful  wisdom,  lias  compensated 
me  for  a  singular  absence  of  beauty  by  endowing  me 
with  great  strength,  and  with  one  of  those  excep¬ 
tional  constitutions  which  seem  constantly  charged 
with  electricity.  Without  being  what  is  called  a 
mesmerist,  I  am  possessed  of  considerable  magnetic 
power,  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  develop  as  far 
as  possible.  In  many  a  long  conversation  with  old 
Manu  Lai,  my  Brahmin  instructor  in  languages  and 
philosophy  while  in  the  plains,  we  had  discussed  the 
trance  state  in  all  its  bearings.  This  old  pundit  was 
himself  a  distinguished  mesmerist,  and  though  gen- 
erallv  unwilling  to  talk  about  what  is  termed  occult- 
ism,  on  finding  in  me  a  man  naturally  endowed  with 
the  physical  characteristics  necessary  to  those  pur¬ 
suits,  he  had  given  me  several  valuable  hints  as  to 
the  application  of  my  powers.  Here  was  a  worthy 
opportunity. 

I  rubbed  my  feet  on  the  soft  carpet,  and  summon¬ 
ing  all  my  strength,  began  to  make  the  prescribed 
passes  over  my  friend’s  head  and  body.  Very  gradu¬ 
ally  the  look  of  life  returned  to  his  face,  the  generous 
blood  welled  up  under  the  clear  olive  skin,  the  lips 


60 


MR.  ISAACS. 


parted,  and  he  sighed  softly.  Animation,  as  always 
happens  in  such  cases,  began  at  the  precise  point  at 
which  it  had  been  suspended,  and  his  first  movement 
was  to  continue  his  examination  of  the  mouthpiece 
in  his  hand.  Then  he  looked  up  suddenly,  and  see¬ 
ing  me  standing  over  him,  gave  a  little  shake,  half 
turning  his  shoulders  forward  and  back,  and  speaking 
once  more  in  his  natural  voice,  said  — 

“I  must  have  been  asleep!  Have  I?  What  has 
happened?  Why  are  you  standing  there  looking  at 
me  in  that  way?”  Then,  after  a  short  interrogatory 
silence,  his  face  changed  and  a  look  of  annoyance 
shaded  his  features  as  he  added  in  a  low  tone,  “Oh! 
I  see.  It  has  happened  to  me  once  before.  Sit 
down.  I  am  all  right  now.  ”  He  sipped  a  little  sherbet 
and  leaned  back  in  his  old  position.  I  begged  him 
to  go  to  bed,  and  prepared  to  withdraw,  but  he  would 
not  let  me,  and  he  seemed  so  anxious  that  I  should 
stay,  that  I  resumed  my  place.  The  whole  incident 
had  passed  in  ten  minutes. 

“Stay  with  me  a  little  longer,”  he  repeated.  “I 
need  your  company,  perhaps  your  advice.  I  have 
had  a  vision,  and  you  must  hear  about  it.” 

“  I  thought  as  I  sat  here  that  my  spirit  left  my 
body  and  passed  out  through  the  night  air  and  hov¬ 
ered  over  Simla.  I  could  see  into  every  bungalow, 
and  was  conscious  of  what  passed  in  each,  but  there 
was  only  one  where  my  gaze  rested,  for  I  saw  upon 
a  couch  in  a  spacious  chamber  the  sleeping  form  of 
one  I  knew.  The  masses  of  fair  hair  were  heaped  as 


MR.  ISAACS. 


61 


they  fell  upon  the  pillow,  as  if  she  had  lain  down 
weary  of  bearing  the  burden  of  such  wealth  of  gold. 
The  long  dark  lashes  threw  little  shadows  on  her 
cheeks,  and  the  parted  lips  seemed  to  smile  at  the 
sweetness  of  the  gently  heaving  breath  that  fanned 
them  as  it  came  and  went.  And  while  1  looked,  the 
breath  of  her  body  became  condensed,  as  it  were,  and 
took  shape  and  form  and  colour,  so  that  the  image  of 
herself  floated  up  between  her  body  and  my  watching 
spirit.  Nearer  and  nearer  to  me  came  the  exquisite 
vision  of  beauty,  till  we  were  face  to  face,  my  soul 
and  hers,  high  up  in  the  night.  And  there  came 
from  her  eyes,  as  the  long  lids  lifted,  a  look  of  per¬ 
fect  trust,  and  of  love,  and  of  infinite  joy.  Then  she 
turned  her  face  southward  and  pointed  to  my  life 
star  burning  bright  among  his  lesser  fellows ;  and 
with  a  long  sweet  glance  that  bid  me  follow  where 
she  led,  her  maiden  soul  floated  away,  half  lingering 
at  first,  as  I  watched  her;  then,  with  dizzy  speed, 
vanishing  in  the  firmament  as  a  falling  star,  and 
leaving  no  trace  behind,  save  an  infinitely  sad  regret, 
and  a  longing  to  enter  with  her  into  that  boundless 
empire  of  peace.  But  I  could  not,  for  my  spirit  Avas 
called  back  to  this  body.  And  I  bless  Allah  that 
he  has  given  me  to  see  her  once  so,  and  to  knoAV  that 
she  has  a  soul,  even  as  I  have,  for  I  have  looked  upon 
her  spirit  and  I  know  it.” 

Isaacs  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  moved  towards 
the  open  door.  I  followed  him,  and  for  a  few  mo¬ 
ments  we  stood  looking  out  at  the  scene  below  us. 


62 


MR.  ISAACS. 


It  was  near  midnight,  and  the  ever-decreasing  moon 
Avas  dragging  herself  up,  as  if  ashamed  of  her  waning 
beauty  and  tearful  look. 

“Griggs,”  said  my  friend,  dropping  the  formal 
prefix  for  the  first  time,  “all  this  is  very  strange.  I 
believe  1  am  in  love!  ” 

“I  have  not  a  doubt  of  it,”  I  replied.  “Peace  be 
with  you !  ” 

“And  with  you  peace.” 

So  we  parted. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


63 


CHAPTER  IV. 

In  Simla  people  make  morning  calls  in  the  morn¬ 
ing  instead  of  after  dark,  as  in  more  civilised  coun¬ 
tries.  Soon  after  dawn  I  received  a  note  from 
Isaacs,  saying  that  he  had  business  with  the  Mahara¬ 
jah  of  Baithopoor  about  some  precious  stones,  but 
that  he  would  be  ready  to  go  with  me  to  call  on  Mr. 
Currie  Ghyrkins  at  ten  o’clock,  or  soon  after.  I 
had  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  the  events  of 
the  previous  evening,  and  I  was  looking  forward  to 
my  next  meeting  with  Isaacs  with  intense  interest. 
After  what  had  passed,  nothing  could  be  such  a  test 
of  his  true  feelings  as  the  visit  to  Miss  Westonhaugh, 
which  we  proposed  to  make  together,  and  I  promised 
myself  to  lose  no  gesture,  no  word,  no  expression, 
which  might  throw  light  on  the  question  that  inter¬ 
ested  me  —  whether  such  a  union  were  practical, 
possible,  and  wise. 

At  the  appointed  time,  therefore,  I  was  ready,  and 
Ave  mounted  and  sallied  forth  into  the  bright  autumn 
day.  All  visits  are  made  on  horseback  in  Simla,  as 
the  distances  are  often  considerable.  You  ride  qui¬ 
etly  along,  and  the  saice  folloAvs  you,  walking  or 
keeping  pace  with  your  gentle  trot,  as  the  case  may 


64 


MR.  ISAACS. 


be.  We  rode  along  the  bustling  mall,  crowded  with 
men  and  women  on  horseback,  with  numbers  of 
gorgeously  arrayed  native  servants  and  chuprassies  of 
the  Government  offices  hurrying  on  their  respective 
errands,  or  dawdling  for  a  chat  with  some  shabby- 
looking  acquaintance  in  private  life ;  we  passed  by 
the  crowded  little  shops  on  the  hill  below  the  church, 
and  glanced  at  the  conglomeration  of  grain-sellers, 
jewellers,  confectioners,  and  dealers  in  metal  or 
earthen  vessels,  every  man  sitting  knee-deep  in  his 
wares,  smoking  the  eternal  “hubble-bubble;”  we 
noted  the  keen  eyes  of  the  buyers  and  the  hawk's 
glance  of  the  sellers,  the  long  snake-like  lingers 
eagerly  grasping  the  passing  coin,  and  seemingly  con¬ 
vulsed  into  serpentine  contortion  when  they  relin¬ 
quished  their  clutch  on  a  single  “pi;”  we  marked 
this  busy  scene,  set  down,  like  a  Punch  and  Judy 
show,  in  tho  midst  of  the  trackless  waste  of  the  Him¬ 
alayas,  as  if  for  tho  delectation  and  pastime  of  some 
merry  genius  loci  weary  of  the  solemn  silence  in  his 
awful  mountains,  and  we  chatted  carelessly  of  the 
sights  animate  and  inanimate  before  us,  laughing  at 
the  asseverations  of  the  salesmen,  and  at  the  hardened 
scepticism  of  the  customer,  at  the  portentous  dignity 
of  the  superb  old  messenger,  white-bearded  and  clad 

'«v 

in  scarlet  and  gold,  as  he  bombastically  described 
to  the  knot  of  poor  relations  and  admirers  that 
elbowed  him  the  splendours  of  the  last  entertainment 
at  “Peterliof,”  where  Lord  Lytton  still  reigned.  I 
smiled,  and  Isaacs  frowned  at  the  ancient  and  hairy 


MR.  ISAACS. 


65 


ascetic  believer,  who  suddenly  rose  from  liis  lair  in 
a  corner,  and  bustled  through  the  crowd  of  Hin¬ 
doos,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice  the  confession 
of  his  faith  —  “Beside  God  there  is  no  God,  and 
Muhammad  is  his  apostle!  ”  The  universality  of  the 
Oriental  spirit  is  something  amazing.  Customs, 
dress,  thought,  and  language,  are  wonderfully  alike 
among  all  Asiatics  west  of  Thibet  and  south  of 
Turkistan.  The  greatest  difference  is  in  language, 
and  yet  no  one  unacquainted  with  the  dialects  could 
distinguish  by  the  ear  between  Hindustani,  Persian, 
Arabic,  and  Turkish. 

So  we  moved  along,  and  presently  found  ourselves 
on  the  road  we  had  traversed  the  previous  evening, 
leading  round  Jako.  On  the  slope  of  the  hill, 
hidden  by  a  dense  growth  of  rhododendrons,  lay  the 
bungalow  of  Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins,  and  a  board  at 
the  entrance  of  the  ride  —  drive  there  was  none  — 
informed  us  that  the  estate  bore  the  high-sounding 
title  of  “Carisbrooke  Castle,”  in  accordance  with 
the  Simla  custom  of  calling  little  things  by  big 
names. 

Having  reached  the  lawn  near  the  house,  we  left 
our  horses  in  charge  of  the  saice  and  strolled  up  the 
short  walk  to  the  verandah.  A  charming  picture  it 
was,  prepared  as  if  on  purpose  for  our  especial  delec¬ 
tation.  The  bungalow  was  a  large  one  for  Simla, 
and  the  verandah  was  deep  and  shady ;  many  chairs 
of  all  sorts  and  conditions  stood  about  in  natural 
positions,  as  if  they  had  just  been  sat  in,  instead  of 

F 


66 


MR.  ISAACS. 


being  ranged  in  stiff  rows  against  tlie  wall,  and 
across  one  angle  liung  a  capacious  hammock.  There¬ 
in,  swinging  her  feet  to  the  ground,  and  holding  on 
by  the  edge  rope,  sat  the  beautiful  Miss  W estonhaugli, 
clad  in  one  of  those  close-fitting  unadorned  costumes 
of  plain  dark-blue  serge,  which  only  suit  one  woman 
in  ten  thousand,  though,  when  they  clothe  a  really 
beautiful  young  figure,  I  know  of  no  garment  better 
calculated  to  display  grace  of  form  and  motion.  She 
was  kicking  a  ball  of  worsted  with  her  dainty  toes, 
for  the  amusement  and  instruction  of  a  small  tame 
jackal  —  the  only  one  I  ever  saw  thoroughly  domesti¬ 
cated.  A  charming  little  beast  it  was,  with  long 
gray  fur  and  bright  twinkling  eyes,  mischievous  and 
merry  as  a  gnome’s.  From  a  broad  blue  ribbon 
round  its  neck  was  suspended  a  small  silver  bell  that 
tinkled  spasmodically,  as  the  lively  little  thing 
sprang  from  side  to  side  in  pursuit  of  the  ball,  alight¬ 
ing  with  apparent  indifference  on  its  head  or  its 
heels. 

So  busy  was  the  girl  with  her  live  plaything  that 
she  had  not  seen  us  dismount  and  approach  her,  and 
it  was  not  till  our  feet  sounded  on  the  boards  of  the 
verandah  that  she  looked  up  with  a  little  start,  and 
tried  to  rise  to  her  feet.  Now  any  one  who  has  sat 
sideways  in  a  netted  hammock,  with  feet  swinging 
to  the  ground,  and  all  the  weight  in  the  middle  of 
the  thing,  knows  how  difficult  it  is  to  get  out  with 
grace,  or  indeed  in  any  way  short  of  rolling  out  and 
running  for  luck.  Yrou  may  break  all  your  bones  in 


MR.  ISAACS. 


67 


the  feat,  and  you  both  look  and  feel  as  if  you  were 
going  to.  Though  we  both  sprang  forward  to  her 
assistance,  Miss  Westonhaugli  had  recognised  the  in¬ 
expediency  of  moving  after  the  first  essay,  and,  with 
a  smile  of  greeting,  and  the  faintest  tinge  of  embar¬ 
rassment  on  her  fair  cheek,  abandoned  the  attempt; 
the  quaint  little  jackal  sat  up,  backing  against  the 
side  of  the  house,  and,  eyeing  us  critically,  growled 
a  little. 

“I’m  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Isaacs.  How  do  you 
do,  Mr. - ” 

“Griggs,”  murmured  Isaacs,  as  he  straightened  a 
rope  of  the  hammock  by  her  side. 

“Mr.  Griggs?”  she  continued.  “We  met  last 
night,  briefly,  but  to  the  point,  or  at  least  you  and 
my  uncle  did.  I  am  alone ;  my  uncle  is  gone  down 
towards  Kalka  to  meet  my  brother,  who  is  coming 
up  for  a  fortnight  at  the  end  of  the  season  to  get  rid 
of  the  Bombay  mould.  Bring  up  some  of  those 
chairs  and  sit  down.  I  cannot  tell  what  lias  become 
of  the  4  bearer  ’  and  the  4  boy,  ’  and  the  rest  of  the 
servants,  and  1  could  not  make  them  understand  me 
if  they  were  here.  So  you  must  wait  on  yourselves.” 

I  was  the  first  to  lay  hands  on  a  chair,  and  as  1 
turned  to  bring  it  I  noticed  she  was  following  Isaacs 
with  the  same  expression  I  had  seen  on  her  face  the 
previous  evening;  but  I  could  see  it  better  now.  A 
pleasant  friendly  look,  not  tender  so  much  as  kind, 
while  the  slightest  possible  contraction  of  the  eyes 
showed  a  feeling  of  curiosity.  She  was  evidently 
going  to  speak  to  him  as  soon  as  he  turned  his  face. 


68 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“You  see  I  have  been  giving  him  lessons,”  she 
said,  as  he  brought  back  the  seat  he  had  chosen. 

Isaacs  looked  at  the  queer  small  beast  sitting  up 
against  the  boards  under  the  window,  his  brush  tail 
curled  round  him,  and  his  head  turned  inquiringly 
on  one  side. 

“He  seems  to  be  learning  manners,  at  all  events,” 
said  my  friend. 

“Yes;  I  think  I  may  say  now,  with  safety,  that 
his  bark  is  worse  than  his  bite.” 

“  I  am  sure  you  could  not  have  said  so  the  last  time 
I  came.  Do  you  remember  what  fearful  havoc  he 
made  among  my  nether  garments  ?  And  }Tet  he  is 
my  god-child,  so  to  speak,  for  I  gave  him  into  your 
care,  and  named  him  into  the  bargain.” 

“Don’t  suppose  I  am  ungrateful  for  the  gift,” 
answered  Miss  Westonhaugh.  “Snap!  Snap!  here! 
come  here,  darling,  to  your  mistress,  and  be  petted!  ” 
In  spite  of  this  eloquent  appeal  Snap,  the  baby 
jackal,  only  growled  pleasantly  and  whisked  his 
brush  right  and  left.  “You  see,”  she  went  on, 
“your  sponsorship  has  had  no  very  good  results. 
He  will  not  obey  any  more  than  you  yourself.”  Her 
glance,  turning  towards  Isaacs,  did  not  reach  him, 
and,  in  fact,  she  could  not  have  seen  anything  beyond 
the  side  of  his  chair.  Isaacs,  on  the  contrary,  seemed 
to  be  counting  her  eyelashes,  and  taking  a  mental 
photograph  of  her  brows. 

“Snap!”  said  he.  The  jackal  instantly  rose  and 
trotted  to  him,  fawning  on  his  outstretched  hand. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


69 


“Yon  malign  me,  Miss  Westonhaugh.  Snap  is  no 
less  obedient  than  I.” 

“  Then  why  did  you  insist  on  playing  tennis  left- 
handed  the  other  day,  though  you  know  very  well 
how  it  puzzles  me  ?  ” 

“  My  dear  Miss  W estonliaugh,  ”  he  answered,  “  I  am 
not  a  tennis-player  at  all,  to  begin  with,  and  as  I  do 
not  understand  the  finesse  of  the  game,  to  use  a  word 
I  do  not  understand  either,  you  must  pardon  my 
clumsiness  in  employing  the  hand  most  convenient 
and  ready.” 

“Some  people,”  I  began,  “are  what  is  called  ambi¬ 
dexter,  and  can  use  either  hand  with  equal  ease. 
Now  the  ancient  Persians,  who  invented  the  game 
of  polo - ” 

“  I  do  not  quarrel  so  much  with  you,  Mr.  Isaacs 
—  ”  as  she  said  this,  she  looked  at  me,  though  entirely 
disregarding  and  interrupting  my  instructive  sen¬ 
tence —  “1  don't  quarrel  with  you  so  much  for 
using  your  left  hand  at  tennis  as  for  employing  left- 
handed  weapons  when  you  speak  of  other  things,  or 
beings,  for  }v>u  are  never  so  left-handed  and  so  adroit 
as  when  you  are  indulging  in  some  elaborate  abuse 
of  our  sex.” 

“  How  can  you  say  that  ?  ”  protested  Isaacs.  “  You 
know  with  what  respectful  and  almost  devotional 
reverence  I  look  upon  all  women,  and,”  his  eyes 
brightening  perceptibly,  “upon  you  in  particular.” 

English  women,  especially  in  their  youth,  are  not 
used  to  pretty  speeches.  They  are  so  much  accus- 


TO 


MR.  ISAACS. 


tomecl  to  the  men  of  their  own  nationality  that  they 
regard  the  least  approach  to  a  compliment  as  the 

inevitable  introduction  to  the  Worst  kind  of  insult. 

* 

Miss  Westonhaugh  was  no  exception  to  this  rule, 
and  she  drew  herself  up  proudly. 

There  was  a  moment’s  pause,  during  which  Isaacs 
seemed  penitent,  and  she  appeared  to  be  revolving 
the  hearings  of  the  affront  conveyed  in  his  last  words. 
She  looked  along  the  floor,  slowly,  till  she  might 
have  seen  his  toes;  then  her  eyes  opened  a  moment 
and  met  his,  falling  again  instantly  with  a  change  of 
colour. 

44  And  pray,  Mr.  Isaacs,  would  you  mind  giving  us 
a  list  of  the  ladies  you  look  upon  with  4  respectful 
and  devotional  reverence?’”  One  of  the  horses 
held  by  the  saice  at  the  corner  of  the  lawn  neighed 
lowly,  and  gave  Isaacs  an  opportunity  of  looking 
away. 

41  Miss  Westonhaugh,”  he  said  quietly,  44 you  know 
I  am  a  Mussulman,  and  that  I  am  married.  It  may 
be  that  I  have  borrowed  a  phrase  from  your  lan¬ 
guage  which  expresses  more  than  I  would  convey, 
though  it  would  ill  become  me  to  withdraw  my  last 
words,  since  they  are  true.” 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  curious  now.  I  wondered 
where  liis  boldness  would  carry  him.  Among  his 
other  accomplishments,  this  man  was  capable  of 
speaking  the  truth  even  to  a  woman,  not  as  a  luxury 
and  a  bonne  bouche ,  but  as  a  matter  of  habit.  As 
I  looked,  the  hot  blood  mantled  up  to  his  brows. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


71 


She  was  watching  him,  and  womanlike,  seeing  he 
was  in  earnest  and  embarrassed,  she  regained  her  per¬ 
fect  natural  composure. 

“  Oh,  I  had  forgotten !  ”  she  said.  “  I  forgot  about 
your  wife  in  Delhi.”  She  half  turned  in  the  ham¬ 
mock,  and  after  some  searching,  during  which  we 
were  silent,  succeeded  in  finding  a  truant  piece  of 
worsted  work  behind  her.  The  wool  was  pulled  out 
of  the  needle,  and  she  held  the  steel  instrument  up 
against  the  light,  as  she  doubled  the  worsted  round 
the  eye  and  pushed  it  back  through  the  little  slit.  I 
observed  that  Isaacs  was  apparently  in  a  line  with 
the  light,  and  that  the  threading  took  some  time. 

“Mr.  Griggs,”  she  said  slowly,  and  by  the  very 
slowness  of  the  address  I  knew  she  was  going  to 
talk  to  me,  and  at  my  friend,  as  women  will ;  “  Mr. 
Griggs,  do  you  know  anything  about  Mohamme¬ 
dans  ?  ” 

“That  is  a  very  broad  question,”  I  answered; 
“almost  as  broad  as  the  Mussulman  creed.”  She 
began  making  stitches  in  the  work  she  held,  and 
with  a  little  side  shake  settled  herself  to  listen,  antic¬ 
ipating  a  discourse.  The  little  jackal  sidled  up  and 
fawned  on  her  feet.  I  had  no  intention,  however, 
of  delivering  a  lecture  on  the  faith  of  the  prophet. 
I  saw  my  friend  was  embarrassed  in  the  conversa¬ 
tion,  and  I  resolved,  if  possible,  to  interest  her. 

“  Among  primitive  people  and  very  young  persons,  ” 
I  continued,  “  marriage  is  an  article  of  faith,  a  moral 
precept,  and  a  social  law.” 


72 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“I  suppose  you  are  married,  Mr.  Griggs,”  she 
said,  with  an  air  of  childlike  simplicity. 

“Pardon  me,  Miss  Westonhaugh,  I  neither  con¬ 
descend  to  call  myself  primitive,  nor  aspire  to  call 
myself  young.” 

'  She  laughed.  I  had  put  a  wedge  into  my  end  of 
the  conversation. 

“I  thought,”  said  she,  “from  the  way  in  which 
you  spoke  of  4  primitive  and  young  persons  ’  that  you 
considered  their  opinion  in  regard  to  —  to  this  ques- 
tion,  as  being  the  natural  and  proper  opinion  of  the 
original  and  civilised  young  man.” 

“  I  repeat  that  I  do  not  claim  to  be  very  civilised, 
or  very  young  —  certainly  not  to  be  very  original, 
and  my  renunciation  of  all  these  qualifications  is  my 
excuse  for  the  confirmed  bachelorhood  to  which  I 
adhere.  Many  Mohammedans  are  young  and  origi¬ 
nal  ;  some  of  them  are  civilised,  as.  you  see,  and  all  of 
them  are  married.  4  There  is  no  God  but  God, 
Muhammad  is  his  prophet,  and  if  you  refuse  to  marry 
you  are  not  respectable,’  is  their  full  creed.” 

Isaacs  frowned  at  my  profanity,  but  I  continued  — 
“  I  do  not  mean  to  say  anything  disrespectful  to  a 
creed  so  noble  and  social.  T  think  you  have  small 
chance  of  converting  Mr.  Isaacs.” 

O 

“I  would  not  attempt  it,”  she  said,  laying  down 
her  work  in  her  lap,  and  looking  at  me  for  a  moment. 
“But  since  you  sjieak  of  creeds,  to  what  confession 
do  you  yourself  belong,  if  I  may  ask?” 

“I  am  a  Roman  Catholic,”  I  answered;  adding 


MR.  ISAACS. 


•  73 

presently  —  “Really,  though,  I  do  not  see  how  my 
belief  in  the  papal  infallibility  affects  my  opinion  of 
Mohammedan  marriages.  ” 

“And  what  do  you  think  of  them?”  she  inquired, 
resuming  her  work  and  applying  herself  thereto  with 
great  attention. 

“  J  think  that,  though  justified  in  principle  by  the 
ordinary  circumstances  of  Eastern  life,  there  are 
cases  in  which  the  system  acts  very  badly.  I  think 
that  young  men  are  often  led  by  sheer  force  of  exam¬ 
ple  into  marrying  several  wives  before  they  have 
sufficiently  reflected  on  the  importance  of  what  they 
are  doing.  I  think  that  both  marriage  and  divorce 
are  too  easily  managed  in  consideration  of  their 
importance  to  a  man’s  life,  and  I  am  convinced  that 
no  civilised  man  of  Western  education,  if  he  were 
to  adopt  Islam,  would  take  advantage  of  his  change 
of  faith  to  marry  four  wives.  It  is  a  case  of  theory 
versus  practice,  which  I  will  not  attempt  to  explain. 
It  may  often  be  good  in  logic,  but  it  seems  to  me  it 
is  very  often  bad  in  real  life.” 

“Yes,”  said  Isaacs;  “there  are  cases - ”  He 

stopped,  and  Miss  Westonliaugh,  who  had  been  very 
busy  over  her  work,  looked  quietly  up,  only  to  find 
that  he  was  profoundly  interested  in  the  horses 
cropping  the  short  grass,  as  far  as  the  saice  would 
let  them  stretch  their  necks,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lawn. 

“I  confess,”  said  Miss  Westonliaugh,  “that  my 
ideas  about  Mohammedans  are  chiefly  the  result  of 


i 


74 


MR.  ISAACS. 


reading  the  Arabian  Nights,  ever  so  long  ago.  It 
seems  to  me  that  they  treat  women  as  if  they  had  no 
souls  and  no  minds,  and  were  incapable  of  doing  any¬ 
thing  rational  if  left  to  themselves.  It  is  a  man’s 
religion.  My  uncle  says  so  too,  and  he  ought  to 
know. 

The  conversation  was  meandering  in  a  kind  of 
vicious  circle.  Both  Isaacs  and  I  were  far  too  deeply 
interested  in  the  question  to  care  for  such  idle  discus¬ 
sion.  How  could  this  beautiful  but  not  very  intel-, 
leetual  English  girl,  with  her  prejudices  and  her 
clumsiness  at  repartee  or  argument,  ever  comprehend 
or  handle  delicately  so  difficult  a  subject?  I  was 
disappointed  in  her.  Perhaps  this  was  natural 
enough,  considering  that  with  two  such  men  as  we 
she  must  be  entirely  out  of  her  element.  She  was 
of  the  type  of  brilliant,  healthy,  northern  girls,  who 
depend  more  on  their  animal  spirits  and  enjoyment 
of  living  for  their  happiness  than  upon  any  natural 
or  acquired  mental  powers.  With  a  horse,  or  a  ten¬ 
nis  court,  or  even  a  ball  to  amuse  her,  she  would 
appear  at  her  very  best;  would  be  at  ease  and  do  the 
right  thing.  But  when  called  upon  to  sustain  a 
conversation,  such  as  that  into  which  her  curios  it}" 
about  Isaacs  had  plunged  her,  she  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  She  was  constrained,  and  even  some  of 
her  native  grace  of  manner  forsook  her.  Why  did 
she  avoid  his  eyes  and  resort  to  such  a  petty  little 
trick  as  threading  a  needle  in  order  to  get  a  look  at 
him?  An  American  girl,  or  a  French  woman,  would 


MR.  ISAACS. 


75 


have  seen  that  her  strength  lay  in  perfect  frankness ; 
that  Isaacs’  straightforward  nature  would  make  him 
tell  her  unhesitatingly  anything  she  wanted  to  know 
about  himself,  and  that  her  position  was  strong 
enough  for  her  to  look  him  in  the  face  and  ask  him 
what  she  pleased.  But  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
embarrassed,  and  though  she  had  been  really  glad  to 
see  him,  and  liked  him  and  thought  him  handsome, 
she  was  beginning  to  wish  he  would  go,  merely 
because  she  did  not  know  what  to  talk  about,  and 
would  not  give  him  a  chance  to  choose  his  own  sub¬ 
ject.  As  neither  of  us  were  inclined  to  carry  the 
analysis  of  matrimony  any  farther,  nor  to  dispute  the 
opinions  of  Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins  as  quoted  by  his 
niece,  there  was  a  pause.  I  struck  in  and  boldly 
changed  the  subject. 

“Are  you  going  to  see  the  polo  this  afternoon, 
Miss  Westonhaugli?  I  heard  at  the  hotel  that  there 
was  to  be  a  match  to-day  of  some  interest.” 

“  Oh  yes,  of  course.  I  would  not  miss  it  for  any¬ 
thing.  Lord  Steepleton  is  coming  to  tiffin,  and  we 
shall  ride  down  together  to  Annandale.  Of  course 
you  are  going  too ;  it  will  be  a  splendid  thing.  Do 
you  play  polo,  Mr.  Griggs?  Mr.  Isaacs  is  a  great 
player,  when  he  can  be  induced  to  take  the  trouble. 
He  knows  more  about  it  than  he  does  about  tennis.” 

“ I  am  very  fond  of  the  game,”  I  answered,  “but 
I  have  no  horses  here,  and  with  my  weight  it  is  not 
easy  to  get  a  mount  for  such  rough  work.” 

“Do  not  disturb  yourself  on  that  score,”  said 


76 


MR.  ISAACS. 


Isaacs;  “you  know  my  stable  is  always  at  your  dis¬ 
posal,  and  I  have  a  couple  of  ponies  that  would  carry 
you  well  enough.  Let  us  have  a  game  one  of  those 
days,  whenever  we  can  get  the  ground.  We  will 
play  on  opposite  sides  and  match  the  far  west  against 
the  far  east.” 

“What  fun  I”  cried  Miss  Westonhaugh,  her  face 
brightening  at  the  idea,  “and  I  will  hold  the  stakes 
and  bestow  the  crown  on  the  victor.” 

“What  is  to  be  the  prize?”  asked  Isaacs,  with  a 
smile  of  pleasure.  He  was  very  literal  and  boyish 
sometimes. 

“That  depends  on  which  is  the  winner,”  she 
answered. 

There  was  a  noise  among  the  trees  of  horses’  hoofs 
on  the  hard  path,  and  presently  we  heard  a  voice  call¬ 
ing  loudly  for  a  saice  who  seemed  to  be  lagging  far 
behind.  It  was  a  clear  strong  voice,  and  the  speaker 
abused  the  groom's  female  relations  to  the  fourth 
and  fifth  generations  with  considerable  command  of 
the  Hindustani  language.  Miss  Westonhaugh,  who 
had  not  been  in  the  country  long,  did  not  understand 
a  word  of  the  very  free  swearing  that  was  going  on 
in  the  woods,  but  Isaacs  looked  annoyed,  and  I  regis¬ 
tered  a  black  mark  against  the  name  of  the  new-comer, 
whoever  he  might  be. 

“Oh!  it  is  Lord  Steepleton,”  said  the  young  girl. 
“  He  seems  to  be  always  having  a  row  with  his  ser¬ 
vants.  Don’t  go,”  she  went  on  as  I  took  up  my  hat; 
“he  is  such  a  good  fellow,  you  ought  to  know  him.” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


77 


Lord  Steepleton  Kildare  now  appeared  at  the  corner 

of  the  lawn,  hotly  pursued  by  his  breathless  groom, 

* 

who  had  been  loitering  on  the  way,  and  had  thus 
roused  his  master’s  indignation.  He  was,  as  I  have 
said,  a  fine  specimen  of  a  young  Englishman,  though 
being  Irish  by  descent  he  would  have  indignantly 
denied  any  such  nationality.  I  saw  when  he  had  dis¬ 
mounted  that  he  was  tall  and  straight,  though  not  a 
very  heavily  built  man.  He  carried  his  head  high, 
and  looked  every  inch  a  soldier  as  he  strode  across 
the  grass,  carefully  avoiding  the  pegs  of  the  tennis 
net.  He  wore  a  large  gray  felt  hat,  like  every  one 
else,  and  he  shook  hands  all  round  before  he  took  it 
off,  and  settled  himself  in  an  easy  chair  as  near  as 
he  could  get  to  Miss  Westonhaugli’s  hammock. 

“How  are  ye?  Ah  —  yes,  Mr.  Isaacs,  Mr.  Griggs 
of  Allahabad.  Jolly  day,  isn’t  it?”  and  he  looked 
vaguely  at  the  grass.  “Really,  Miss  Westonhaugh, 
I  got  in  such  a  rage  with  my  rascal  of  a  saice  that  I 
did  not  remember  I  was  so  near  the  house.  I  am 
really  very  sorry  I  talked  like  that.  I  hope  you  did 
not  think  I  was  murdering  him?” 

Isaacs  looked  annoyed. 

“Yes,”  said  he,  “we  thought  Mahmoud  was  going 
to  have  a  bad  time  of  it.  I  believe  Miss  Weston¬ 
haugh  does  not  understand  Hindustani.” 

A  look  of  genuine  distress  came  into  the  English¬ 
man’s  face. 

“  Really,  ”  said  he,  very  simply.  “  You  don’t  know 
how  sorry  I  am  that  any  one  should  have  heard  me. 


78 


MR.  ISAACS. 


I  am  so  hasty.  But  let  me  apologise  to  you  all  most 
siocerely  for  disturbing  you  with  my  brutal  temper/’ 
is  misdeed  had  not  been  a  very  serious  crime 
after  all,  and  there  was  something  so  frank  and 
honest  about  his  awkward  little  apology  that  I  was 
charmed.  The  man  was  a  gentleman.  Isaacs  bowed 
in  silence,  and  Miss  Westonliaugh  had  evidently 
never  thought  much  about  it. 

“We  were  talking  about  polo  when  you  came, 
Lord  Steepleton;  Mr.  Isaacs  and  Mr.  Griggs  are 
going  to  play  a  match,  and  I  am  to  hold  the  stakes. 
Do  you  not  want  to  make  one  in  the  game?” 

“May  I?”  said  the  young  man,  grateful  to  her 
for  having  helped  him  out.  “  May  I  ?  1  should  like 
it  awfully.  I  so  rarely  get  a  chance  of  playing  with 
any  except  the  regular  set  here.”  And  he  looked 
inquiringly  at  us. 

“We  should  be  delighted,  of  course,”  said  Isaacs. 
“  By  the  way,  can  you  help  us  to  make  up  the  num¬ 
ber?  And  when  shall  it  be?  ”  He  seemed  suddenly 
very  much  interested  in  this  projected  contest. 

“Oh  yes,”  Kildare,  “I  will  manage  to  HI  1  up 
the  game,  and  we  can  play  next  Monday.  1  know 
the  ground  is  free  then.” 

“  Very  good;  on  Monday.  We  are  at  Laurie’s  on 
the  hill.” 

“I  am  staying  with  Jack  Tygerbeigh,  near  Peter- 
hof.  Come  and  see  us.  I  will  let  you  know  before 
Monday.  Oh,  Mr.  Griggs,  I  saw  such  a  nice  thing 
about  me  in  the  Howler  the  other  day  —  so  many 


MR.  ISAACS. 


79 


thanks.  No,  really,  greatly  obliged,  yon  know; 
people  say  horrid  things  about  me  sometimes.  Good¬ 
bye,  good-bye,  delighted  to  have  seen  you.” 

“  Good  morning,  Miss  Westonhaugh.” 

“  Good  morning;  so  good  of  you  to  take  pity  on  my 
solitude.”  She  smiled  kindly  at  Isaacs  and  civilly 
at  me.  And  we  went  our  way.  As  we  looked  back 
after  mounting  to  lift  our  hats  once  more,  I  saw  that 
Miss  Westonhaugh  had  succeeded  in  getting  out  of 
the  hammock  and  was  tying  on  a  pith  hat,  while 
Lord  Steepleton  had  armed  himself  with  balls  and 
rackets  from  a  box  on  the  verandah.  As  we  bowed 
they  came  down  the  steps,  looking  the  very  incarna¬ 
tion  of  animal  life  and  spirits  in  the  anticipation  of 
the  game  they  loved  best.  The  bright  autumn  sun 
threw  their  figures  into  bold  relief  against  the  dark 
shadow  of  the  verandah,  and  I  thought  to  myself 
they  made  a  very  pretty  picture.  I  seemed  to  be 
always  seeing  pictures,  and  my  imagination  w^as 
roused  in  a  new  direction. 

We  rode  away  under  the  trees.  ’  T  impression  of 
the  whole  visit  was  unsatisfactory.  had  thought 
Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins  would  be  there,  and  that  I 
would  be  able  to  engage  him  in  a  political  discus¬ 
sion.  We  could  have  talked  income-tax,  and  cotton 
duties,  and  Kabul  by  the  hour,  and  Miss  Weston¬ 
haugh  and  Isaacs  would  have  had  a  pleasant  tete- 
a-tete.  Instead  of  this  I  had  been  decidedly  the 
unlucky  third  who  destroys  the  balance  of  so  much 
pleasure  in  life,  for  I  felt  that  Isaacs  was  not  a  man 


80 


MR.  ISAACS. 


to  be  embarrassed  if  left  alone  with  a  woman,  or  to 
embarrass  her.  He  was  too  full  of  tact,  and  his 
sensibilities  were  so  fine  that,  with  his  easy  com¬ 
mand  of  language,  he  must  be  agreeable  quand  me  me; 
and  such  an  opportunity  would  have  given  him  an 
easy  lead  away  from  the  athletic  Kildare,  whom  I 
suspected  strongly  of  being  a  rival  for  Miss  Weston- 
haugh’s  favour.  There  is  an  easy  air  of  familiar  pro¬ 
prietorship  about  an  Englishman  in  love  that  is  not 
to  be  mistaken.  It  is  a  subtle  thing,  and  expresses 
itself  neither  in  word  nor  deed  in  its  earlier  stages 
of  development;  but  it  is  there  all  the  same,  and  the 
combination  of  this  possessive  mood,  with  a  certain 
shyness  which  often  goes  with  it,  is  amusing. 

“ Griggs,”  said  Isaacs,  “have  you  ever  seen  the 
Rajah  of  Baithopoor?” 

“No;  you  had  some  business  with  him  this  morn¬ 
ing,  had  you  not?” 

“Yes- — some  —  business  —  if  you  call  it  so.  If 
you  would  like  to  see  him  I  can  take  you  there,  and 
I  think  you  would  be  interested  in  the  —  the  busi¬ 
ness.  It  is  not  often  such  gems  are  bought  and  sold 
in  such  a  way,  and  besides,  he  is  very  amusing.  He 
is  at  least  two  thousand  years  old,  and  will  go  to 
Saturn  when  be  dies.  His  fingers  are  long  and 
crooked,  and  that  which  he  putteth  into  his  pockets, 
verily  he  shall  not  take  it  out.” 

“  A  pleasing  picture ;  a  good  contrast  to  the  one 
we  have  left  behind  us.  I  like  contrasts,  and  I 
should  like  to  see  him.” 

“You  shall.”  And  we  lit  our  cheroots. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


81 


CHAPTER  V. 

“  We  will  go  there  at  four,”  said  Isaacs,  coming 
into  my  rooms  after  tiffin,  a  meal  of  which  1  found 
he  rarely  partook.  UI  said  three,  this  morning,  but 
it  is  not  a  bad  plan  to  keep  natives  waiting.  It 
makes  them  impatient,  and  then  they  commit  them¬ 
selves.” 

44  You  are  Machiavellian.  It  is  pretty  clear  which 
of  you  is  asking  the  favour.” 

“Yes,  it  is  pretty  clear.”  He  sat  down  and  took 
up  the  last  number  of  the  Howler  which  lay  on  the 
table.  Presently  he  looked  up.  44  Griggs,  why  do 
you  not  come  to  Delhi  ?  We  might  start  a  newspaper 
there,  you  know,  in  the  Conservative  interest.” 

“In  the  interest  of  Mr.  Algernon  Currie  Ghyr- 
kins  ?  ”  I  inquired. 

44  Precisely.  You  anticipate  my  thoughts  with  a 
true  sympathy.  I  suppose  you  have  no  conscience? ” 

“Political  conscience?  No,  certainly  not,  out  of 
my  own  country,  which  is  the  only  one  where  that 
sort  of  thing  commands  a  high  salary.  No,  I  have 
no  conscience.” 

44  You  would  really  write  as  willingly  for  the  Con¬ 
servatives  as  you  do  for  the  Liberals  ?  ” 

G 


82 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“  Oil  yes.  I  could  not  write  so  well  on  the  Con¬ 
servative  side  just  now,  because  they  are  4  in,  ’  and  it 
is  more  blessed  to  abuse  than  to  be  abused,  and  ever 
so  much  easier.  But  as  far  as  any  prejudice  on  the 
subject  is  concerned,  I  have  none.  I  had  as  lief 
defend  a  party  that  robs  India  4  for  her  own  good,’  as 
support  those  who  would  rob  her  with  a  more  cynical 
frankness  and  unblushingly  transfer  the  proceeds  to 
their  own  pockets.  I  do  not  care  a  rush  whether 
they  rob  Peter  to  pay  Paul,  or  fraudulently  deprive 
Paul  of  his  goods  for  the  benefit  of  Peter.” 

44  That  is  the  way  to  look  at  it.  I  could  tell  you 
some  very  pretty  stories  about  that  kind  of  thing. 
As  for  the  journalistic  enterprise,  it  is  only  a  possible 
card  to  be  played  if  the  old  gentleman  is  obdurate.” 

44  Isaacs,”  said  T,  44 1  have  only  known  you  three 
days,  but  you  have  taken  me  into  your  confidence  to 
some  extent;  probably  because  I  am  not  English.  1 
may  be  of  use  to  you,  and  I  am  sure  I  sincerely  hope 
so.  Meanwhile  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  if  you 
will  allow  me  to.”  1  paused  for  an  answer.  We 
were  standing  by  the  open  door,  and  Isaacs  leaned 
back  against  the  door-post,  his  eyes  fixed  on  me, 
half  closed,  as  lie  threw  his  head  back.  He  looked 
at  me  somewhat  curiously,  and  I  thought  a  smile 
flickered  round  his  mouth,  as  if  he  anticipated  what 
the  question  would  be. 

“Certainly,”  he  said  slowly.  44  Ask  me  anything 
you  like.  I  have  nothing  to  conceal.” 

44  Do  you  seriously  think  of  marrying,  or  proposing 
to  marry,  Miss  Katharine  Westonhaugh  ?  ” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


88 


44  I  do  seriously  think  of  proposing  to  marry,  and 
of  marrying,  Miss  Westonhaugh.  ”  He  looked  very 
determined  as  he  thus  categorically  affirmed  his 
intention.  I  knew  he  meant  it,  and  I  knew  enough 
of  Oriental  character  to  understand  that  a  man  like 
Abdul  Hafizhen-Isak,  of  strong  passions,  infinite  wit, 
and  immense  wealth,  was  not  likely  to  fail  in  any¬ 
thing  he  undertook  to  do.  When  Asiatic  indifference 
gives  way  under  the  strong  pressure  of  some  master 
passion,  there  is  no  length  to  which  the  hot  and 
impetuous  temper  beneath  may  not  carry  the  man. 
Isaacs  had  evidently  made  up  his  mind.  I  did  not 
think  he  could  know  much  about  the  usual  methods 
of  wooing  English  girls,  but  as  I  glanced  at  his 
graceful  figure,  his  matchless  eyes,  and  noted  for  the 
hundredth  time  the  commanding,  high-bred  air  that 
was  the  breath  of  his  character,  I  felt  that  his  rival 
would  have  but  a  poor  chance  of  success.  He  guessed 
my  thoughts. 

“  What  do  you  think  of  me?”  lie  asked,  smiling. 
44  Will  you  back  me  for  a  place?  I  have  advantages, 
you  must  allow  —  and  worldly  advantages  too.  They 
are  not  rich  people  at  all.” 

“My  dear  Isaacs,  I  will  back  you  to  win.  But  as 
far  as  4  worldly  advantages  ’  are  concerned,  do  not 
trust  to  wealth  for  a  moment.  Do  not  flatter  your¬ 
self  that  there  will  be  any  kind  of  a  bargain,  as  if 
you  were  marrying  a  Persian  girl.  There  is  nothing 
venal  in  that  young  lady’s  veins,  l  am  sure.” 

44  Allah  forbid !  But  there  is  something  very  venal 


84 


MR.  ISAACS. 


in  the  veins  of  Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins.  I  propose  to 
carry  the  outworks  one  by  one.  He  is  her  uncle,  her 
guardian,  her  only  relation,  save  her  brother.  I  do 
not  think  either  of  those  men  would  be  sorry  to  see 
her  married  to  a  man  of  stainless  name  and  consider¬ 
able  fortune.” 

“  You  forget  your  three  incumbrances,  as  you  called 
them  last  night.” 

“No  —  I  do  not  forget  them.  It  is  allowed  me  by 
my  religion  to  marry  a  fourth,  and  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  she  would  be  thenceforth  my  only  wife.” 

“  But  would  her  guardian  and  brother  ever  think 
of  allowing  her  to  take  such  a  position?” 

“Why  not?  You  know  very  well  that  the  Eng¬ 
lish  in  general  hardly  consider  our  marriages  ‘to 
be  marriages  at  all  —  knowing  the  looseness  of  the 
bond.  That  is  the  prevailing  impression.” 

“Yes,  I  know.  But  then  they  would  consider 
your  marriage  with  Miss  Westonliaugh  in  the  same 
light,  which  would  not  make  matters  any  easier,  as 
far  as  I  can  see.” 

“Pardon  me.  I  should  marry  Miss  Westonliaugh 
by  the  English  marriage  service  and  under  English 
law.  I  should  be  as  much  bound  to  her,  and  to  her 
alone,  as  if  I  were  an  Englishman  myself.” 

“  Well,  you  have  evidently  thought  it  out  and 
taken  legal  advice ;  and  really,  as  far  as  the  technical 
part  of  it  goes,  I  suppose  you  have  as  good  a  chance 
as  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare.” 

Isaacs  frowned,  and  his  eyes  flashed.  I  saw  at 


MR.  ISAACS. 


85 


once  that  he  considered  the  Irish  officer  a  rival,  and 
a  dangerous  one.  I  did  not  think  that  if  Isaacs  had 
fair  play  and  the  same  opportunities  Kildare  had 
much  chance.  Besides  there  was  a  difficulty  in  the 
Avay. 

“  As  far  as  religion  is  concerned,  Lord  Steepleton 
is  not  much  better  off  than  you,  if  he  wants  to  marry 
Miss  Westonhaugh.  The  Kildares  have  been  Roman 
Catholics  since  the  memory  of  man,  and  they  are  very 
proud  of  it.  Theoretically,  it  is  as  hard  for  a  Roman 
Catholic  man  to  marry  a  Protestant  woman,  as  for  a 
Mussulman  to  Aved  a  Christian  of  any  denomination. 
Harder,  in  fact,  for  your  marriage  depends  upon  the 
consent  of  the  lady,  and  his  upon  the  consent  of  the 
Church.  He  has  all  sorts  of  difficulties  to  surmount, 
Avhile  you  have  only  to  get  your  personality  accepted 
—  Avhich,  Avlien  I  look  at  you,  I  think  might  be  done,” 
I  added,  laughing. 

“  Jo  hog  a,  so  hog  a  —  what  Avill  he,  will  be,  ”  he  said ; 
“but  religion  or  no  religion,  I  mean  to  do  it.”  Then 
he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  said,  “  Come,  it  is  time  to 
go  and  see  his  Saturnine  majesty,  the  Maharajah  of 
Baithopoor.” 

I  called  for  my  hat  and  gloves. 

“  By-the-bye,  Griggs,  you  may  as  Avell  put  on  a 
black  coat.  You  know  the  old  felloAV  is  a  king,  after 
all,  and  you  had  better  produce  a  favourable  impres¬ 
sion.”  I  retired  to  comply  Avith  his  request,  and  as 
I  came  back  he  turned  quickly  and  came  toAvards  me, 
holding  out  both  hands,  with  a  very  earnest  look  in 
his  face. 


86 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“  Griggs,  I  care  for  that  lady  more  than  I  can  tell 
you,”  he  said,  taking  my  hands  in  his. 

“  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  sure  you  do.  People  do 
not  go  suddenly  into  trances  at  a  name  that  is 
indifferent  to  them.  I  am  sure  you  love  her  very 
honestly  and  dearly.” 

“  You  and  she  have  come  into  my  life  almost 
together,  for  it  was  not  until  I  talked  with  you  last 
night  that  1  made  up  my  mind.  Will  you  help  me? 
I  have  not  a  friend  in  the  world.”  The  simple,  boy¬ 
ish  look  was  in  his  eyes,  and  he  stood  holding  my 
hands  and  waiting  for  my  answer.  I  was  so  fasci¬ 
nated  that  I  would  have  then  and  there  gone  through 
fire  and  water  for  him,  as  I  would  now. 

“Yes.  I  will  help  you.  I  will  be  a  friend  to 
you.” 

“Thank  you.  I  believe  you.”  He  dropped  my 
hands,  and  we  turned  and  went  out,  silent. 

In  all  my  wanderings  I  had  never  promised  any 
man  my  friendship  and  unconditional  support  before. 
There  was  something  about  Isaacs  that  overcame  and 
utterly  swept  away  preconceived  ideas,  rules,  and 
prejudices.  It  was  but  the  third  day  of  our  acquaint¬ 
ance,  and  here  was  I  swearing  eternal  friendship 
like  a  school-girl;  promising  to  help  a  man,  of  whose 
very  existence  I  knew  nothing  three  days  ago,  to 
marry  a  woman  whom  I  had  seen  for  the  first  time 
yesterday.  But  I  resolved  that,  having  pledged  my¬ 
self,  I  would  do  my  part  with  my  might,  whatever 
that  part  might  be.  Meanwhile  we  rode  along,  and 


MR.  ISAACS. 


87 


Isaacs  began  to  talk  about  the  visit  we  were  going 
to  make. 

“I  think,”  he  said,  “that  you  had  better  know 
something  about  this  matter  beforehand.  The  way 
is  long,  and  we  cannot  ride  fast  over  the  steep  roads, 
so  there  is  plenty  of  time.  Do  not  imagine  that  I 
have  idly  asked  you  to  go  with  me  because  I  sup¬ 
posed  it  would  amuse  you.  Dismiss  also  from  your 
mind  the  impression  that  it  is  a  question  of  buying 
and  selling  jewels.  It  is  a  very  serious  matter,  and 
if  you  would  prefer  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  do 
not  hesitate  to  say  so.  I  promised  the  maharajah 
this  morning  that  I  would  bring,  this  afternoon,  a 
reliable  person  of  experience,  who  could  give  advice, 
and  who  might  be  induced  to  give  ids  assistance  as 
well  as  his  counsel.  I  have  not  known  you  long,  but 
I  know  you  by  reputation,  and  I  decided  to  bring 
you,  if  you  would  come.  From  the  very  nature  of 
the  case  I  can  tell  you  nothing  more,  unless  you  con¬ 
sent  to  go  with  me.” 

“ I  will  go,”  I  said. 

“In  that  case  I  will  try  and  explain  the  situation 
in  as  few  words  as  possible.  The  maharajah  is  in 
a  tight  place.  You  will  readily  understand  that 
the  present  difficulties  in  Kabul  cause  him  endless 
anxiety,  considering  the  position  of  his  dominions. 
The  unexpected  turn  of  events,  following  now  so 
rapidly  on  each  other  since  the  English  wantonly 
sacrificed  Cavagnari  and  his  friends  to  a  vainglorious 
love  of  bravado,  has  shaken  the  confidence  of  the 


88 


MR.  ISAACS. 


native  princes  in  tlie  stability  of  English  rule.  They 
are  frightened  out  of  their  senses,  having  the  fear 
of  the  tribes  before  them  if  the  English  should  be 
worsted;  and  they  dread,  on  the  other  hand,  lest  the 
English,  finding  themselves  in  great  straits,  should 
levy  heavy  contributions  on  them  —  the  native  princes 
—  for  the  consolidation  of  what  they  term  the 
‘Empire.’  They  have  not  much  sense,  these  poor 
old  kings  and  boy  princes,  or  they  would  see  that  the 
English  do  not  dare  to  try  any  of  those  old-fashioned 
Clive  tactics  now.  But  old  Baithopoor  has  heard 
all  about  the  King  of  Oude,  and  thinks  he  may  share 
the  same  fate.” 

“  I  think  he  may  make  his  mind  easy  on  that  score. 
The  kingdom  of  Baithopoor  is  too  inconveniently 
situated  and  too  full  of  mosquitoes  to  attract  the 
English.  Besides,  there  are  more  roses  than  rubies 
there  just  now.” 

“  True,  and  that  question  interests  me  closely,  for 
the  old  man  owes  me  a  great  deal  of  money.  It  was 
I  who  pulled  him  through  the  last  famine.” 

“Not  a  very  profitable  investment,  I  should  think. 
Shall  you  ever  see  a  rupee  of  that  money  again  ?  ” 

“Yes;  he  will  pay  me;  though  I  did  not  think  so 
a  week  ago,  or  indeed  yesterday.  I  lent  him  the 
means  of  feeding  his  people  and  saving  many  of  them 
from  actual  death  by  starvation,  because  there  are  so 
many  Mussulmans  among  them,  though  the  mahara¬ 
jah  is  a  Hindoo.  As  for  him,  he  might  starve  to¬ 
morrow,  the  infidel  hound;  I  would  not  give  him  a 


ME.  ISAACS. 


89 


cho'wpatti  or  a  mouthful  of  dal  to  keep  his  wretched 
old  body  alive.” 

“  Do  1  understand  that  this  interview  relates  to 
the  repayment  of  the  moneys  you  have  advanced?” 

“Yes;  though  that  is  not  the  most  interesting 
part  of  it.  He  wanted  to  pay  me  in  flesh  —  human 
flesh,  and  he  offered  to  make  me  a  king  into  the  bar¬ 
gain,  if  I  would  forgive  him  the  debt.  The  latter 
part  of  the  proposal  was  purely  visionary.  The  prom¬ 
ise  to  pay  in  so  much  humanity  lie  is  able  to  perform. 
I  have  not  made  up  my  mind.” 

I  looked  at  Isaacs  in  utter  astonishment.  What 
in  the  world  could  lie  mean?  Had  the  maharajah 
offered  him  some  more  wives — -creatures  of  peerless 
beauty  and  immense  value?  No;  I  knew  he  would 
not  hesitate  now  to  refuse  such  a  proposition. 

“Will  you  please  to  explain  what  you  mean  by  his 
paying  you  in  man?”  I  asked. 

“  In  two  words.  The  Maharajah  of  Baithopoor  has 
in  his  possession  a  man.  Safely  stowed  away  under 
a  triple  watch  and  carefully  tended,  this  man  awaits 
his  fate  as  the  maharajah  may  decide.  The  English 
Government  would  pay  an  enormous  sum  for  this 
man,  but  Baithopoor  fears  that  they  would  ask  awk¬ 
ward  questions,  and  perhaps  not  believe  the  answers 
he  would  give  them.  So,  as  he  owes  me  a  good  deal, 
he  thinks  I  might  be  induced  to  take  his  prisoner 
and  realise  him,  so  to  speak;  thus  cancelling  the 
debt,  and  saving  him  from  the  alternative  of  putting 
the  man  to  death  privately,  or  of  going  through  dan- 


90 


MR.  ISAACS. 


gerous  negotiations  with  the  Government.  Now 
this  thing  is  perfectly  feasible,  and  it  depends  upon 
me  to  say  4  yes  ’  or  4  no  7  to  the  proposition.  Do  you 
see  now?  It  is  a  serious  matter  enough.” 

44  But  the  man  —  who  is  he  ?  Why  do  the  English 
want  him  so  much  ?  77 

Isaacs  pressed  his  horse  close  to  mine,  and  looking 
round  to  see  that  the  saice  was  a  long  way  behind, 
he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and,  leaning  out  of 
the  saddle  till  his  mouth  almost  touched  my  ear,  he 
whispered  quickly  — 

44 Shere  All.77 

44  The  devil,  you  say!  ”  I  ejaculated,  surprised 
out  of  grammar  and  decorum  by  the  startling  news. 
Persons  who  were  in  India  in  1879  will  not  have 
forgotten  the  endless  speculation  caused  by  the  dis¬ 
appearance  of  the  Emir  of  Afghanistan,  Shere  Ali, 
in  the  spring  of  that  year.  Defeated  by  the  English 
at  Ali  Musjid  and  Pei  war,  and  believing  liis  cause 
lost,  he  fled,  no  one  knew  whither;  though  there  is 
reason  to  think  that  lie  might  have  returned  to  power 
and  popularity  among  the  Afghan  tribes  if  he  had 
presented  himself  after  the  murder  of  Cavagnari. 

44  Yes,”  continued  Isaacs,  44 he  has  been  a  prisoner 
in  the  palace  of  Baithopoor  for  six  weeks,  and  not  a 
soul  save  the  maharajah  and  you  and  I  know  it.  He 
came  to  Baithopoor,  humbly  disguised  as  a  Yogi  from 
the  hills,  though  he  is  a  Mussulman,  and  having 
obtained  a  private  hearing,  disclosed  his  real  name, 
proposing  to  the  sovereign  a  joint  movement  on 


MR.  ISAACS. 


91 


Kabul,  then  just  pacified  by  the  British,  and  promis¬ 
ing  all  manner  of  things  for  the  assistance.  Old 
Baitho,  who  is  no  fool,  clapped  him  into  prison 
under  a  guard  of  Punjabi  soldiers  who  could  not 
speak  a  word  of  Afghan,  and  after  due  consideration 
packed  up  his  traps  and  betook  himself  to  Simla  by 
short  stages,  for  the  journey  is  not  an  easy  one  for  a 
man  of  his  years.  He  arrived  the  day  before  yester¬ 
day,  and  has  ostensibly  come  to  congratulate  the 
Viceroy  on  the  success  of  the  British  arms.  He  has 
had  to  modify  the  enthusiasm  of  his  proposed 
address,  in  consequence  of  the  bad  news  from  Kabul. 
Of  course,  his  first  move  was  to  send  for  me,  and  I 
had  a  long  interview  this  morning,  in  which  he 
explained  eveiything.  I  told  him  that  I  would  not 
move  in  the  matter  without  a  third  person  —  neces¬ 
sary  as  a  witness  when  dealing  with  such  people  — 
and  I  have  brought  you/’ 

“  But  what  was  his  proposal  to  invest  you  with  a 
crown?  Did  he  think  you  were  a  likely  person  for 
a  new  Emir  of  Kabul?  ” 

“  Exactly.  My  faith,  and  above  all,  ray  wealth, 
suggested  to  him  that  J,  as  a  born  Persian,  might  be 
the  very  man  for  the  vacant  throne.  No  doubt,  the 
English  would  be  delighted  to  have  me  there.  But 
the  whole  thing  is  visionary  and  ridiculous.  I  think 
I  shall  accept  the  other  proposition,  and  take  the 
prisoner.  It  is  a  good  bargain.” 

I  was  silent.  The  intimate  way  in  which  I  had 
seen  Isaacs  hitherto  had  made  me  forget  his  immense 


92 


MR.  ISAACS. 


wealth  and  his  power.  I  had  not  realised  that  he 
could  be  so  closely  connected  with  intrigues  of  such 
importance  as  this,  or  that  independant  native  princes 
were  likely  to  look  upon  him  as  a  possible  Emir  of 
Afghanistan.  I  had  nothing  to  say,  and  I  deter¬ 
mined  to  keep  to  the  part  I  was  brought  to  perform, 
which  was  that  of  a  witness,  and  nothing  more.  If 
my  advice  were  asked,  I  would  speak  boldly  for  Shere 
Ali’s  liberation  and  protest  against  the  poor  man 
being  bought  and  sold  in  this  way.  This  train  of 
thought  reminded  me  of  Isaacs’  words  when  we  left 
M  iss  Westonhaugh  that  morning.  “  It  is  not  often,” 
he  had  said,  “that  you  see  such  jewels  bought  and 
sold.”  No,  indeed! 

“  You  see,”  Said  Isaacs,  as  we  neared  our  destina¬ 
tion,  “  Baithopoor  is  in  my  power,  body  and  soul,  for  a 
word  from  me  would  expose  him  to  the  British  Gov¬ 
ernment  as  ‘harbouring  traitors,’  as  they  would 
express  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that  you, 
the  third  party,  are  a  journalist,  and  could  at  a 
moment’s  notice  give  publicity  to  the  whole  thing, 
will  be  an  additional  safeguard.  I  have  him  as  in  a 
vice.  And  now  put  on  your  most  formal  manners 
and  look  as  if  you  were  impenetrable  as  the  rock  and 
unbending  as  cast  iron,  for  we  have  reached  his 
bungalow.” 

I  could  not  but  admire  the  perfect  calm  and  cau¬ 
tion  with  which  he  was  conducting  an  affair  involv¬ 
ing  millions  of  money,  a  possible  indictment  for  high 
treason,  and  the  key-note  of  the  Afghan  question, 


MR.  ISAACS. 


93 


while  I  knew  that  his  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  a  beautiful  picture  ever  before  him, 
sleeping  or  waking.  Whatever  I  might  think  of  his 
bargaining  for  the  possession  of  Shere  Ali,  he  had  a 
great,  even  untiring,  intellect.  He  had  the  ele¬ 
ments  of  a  leader  of  men,  and  I  fondly  hoped  he 
might  be  a  ruler  some  day. 

The  bungalow  in  which  the  Maharajah  of  Baitho- 
poor  had  taken  up  his  residence  during  his  visit  was 
very  much  like  all  the  rest  of  the  houses  I  saw  in 
Simla.  The  verandah,  however,  was  crowded  with 
servants  and  sowars  in  gorgeous  but  rather  tawdry 
liveries,  not  all  of  them  as  clean  as  they  should  have 
been.  Horses  with  elaborate  high  saddles  and  em¬ 
broidered  trappings  rather  the  worse  for  wear  were 
being  led  up  and  down  the  walk.  As  we  neared  the 
door  there  was  a  strong  smell  of  rosewater  and  native 
perfumes  and  hookah  tobacco  —  the  indescribable 
odour  of  Eastern  high  life.  There  was  also  a  gen¬ 
eral  air  of  wasteful  and  tawdry  dowdiness,  if  I  may 
coin  such  a  word,  which  one  constantly  sees  in  the 
retinues  of  native  princes  and  rich  native  merchants, 
ill  contrasting  with  the  great  intrinsic  value  of  some 
of  the  ornaments  worn  by  the  chief  officers  of  the 
train. 

Isaacs  spoke  a  few  words  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
jemadar  at  the  door,  and  we  were  admitted  into  a 
small  room  in  the  side  of  the  house,  opening,  as  all 
rooms  do  in  India,  on  to  the  verandah.  There  were 
low  wooden  cliarpoys  around  the  walls,  and  we  sat 


94 


MR.  ISAACS. 


down,  waiting  till  the  maharajah  should  be  advised 
of  our  arrival.  Very  soon  a  jemadar  came  in  and 
informed  us  that  “  if  the  sahib  log ,  who  were  the  pro¬ 
tectors  of  the  poor,  would  deign  to  be  led  by  him,” 
we  should  be  shown  into  the  royal  presence.  So  we 
rose  and  followed  the  obsequious  official  into  another 
apartment. 

The  room  where  the  maharajah  awaited  us  was 
even  smaller  than  the  one  into  which  we  had  been 
first  shown.  It  was  on  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
only  half  lighted  by  the  few  rays  of  afternoon  sun 
that  struggled  through  the  dense  foliage  outside. 
I  suppose  this  apartment  had  been  chosen  as  the 
scene  of  the  interview  on  account  of  its  seclusion. 
Outside  the  window,  which  was  closed,  a  sowar 
paced  slowly  up  and  down  to  keep  away  any  curious 
listeners.  A  heavy  curtain  hung  before  the  door 
through  which  we  had  entered.  I  thought  that  on  the 
whole  the  place  seemed  pretty  safe. 

The  old  maharajah  sat  cross-legged  upon  a  great 
pile  of  dark-red  cushions,  his  slippers  by  his  side, 
and  a  huge  hookah  before  him.  He  wore  a  plain 
white  pugree  with  a  large  jewel  set  on  one  side, 
and  his  body  was  swathed  and  wrapped  in  dark  thick 
stuffs,  as  if  he  felt  keenly  the  cold  autumn  air.  His 
face  was  long,  of  an  ashy  yellowish  colour,  and  an 
immense  white  moustache  hung  curling  down  over 
his  sombre  robe.  One  hand  protruded  from  the  folds 
and  held  the  richly-jewelled  mouthpiece  of  the  pipe 
to  his  lips,  and  I  noticed  that  the  fingers  were  long 


MR.  ISAACS. 


95 


and  crooked,  winding  themselves  curiously  round  the 
gold  stem,  as  if  revelling  in  the  touch  of  the  precious 
metal  and  the  gems.  As  we  came  within  his  range 
of  vision,  his  dark  eyes  shot  a  quick  glance  of 
scrutiny  at  me  and  then  dropped  again.  Not  a 
movement  of  the  head  or  body  betrayed  a  conscious¬ 
ness  of  our  presence.  Isaacs  made  a  long  salutation 
in  Hindustani,  and  I  followed  his  example,  but  he 
did  not  take  off  his  shoes  or  make  anything  more 
than  an  ordinary  bow.  It  was  quite  evident  that  he 
was  master  of  the  situation.  The  old  man  took  the 
pipe  from  his  mouth  and  replied  in  a  deep  hollow 
voice  that  he  was  glad  to  see  us,  and  that,  in  consid¬ 
eration  of  our  wealth,  fame,  and  renoAvned  Avisdom, 
he  would  Avaive  all  ceremony  and  beg  us  to  be  seated. 
We  sat  down  cross-legged  on  cushions  before  him, 
and  as  near  as  Ave  could  get,  so  that  it  seemed  as  if 
we  three  Avere  performing  some  sacred  rite  of  Avhich 
the  object  Avas  the  tall  hookah  that  stood  in  the  centre 
of  our  triangle. 

Being  seated,  Isaacs  addressed  the  prince,  still  in 
Hindustani,  and  said  that  the  splendour  of  his  sub¬ 
lime  majesty,  which  Avas  like  the  sun  dispelling  the 
clouds,  so  overcame  him  Avith  fear  and  trembling, 
that  he  humbly  implored  permission  to  make  use  of 
the  Persian  tongue,  which,  he  Avas  aAvare,  the  lord 
of  boundless  wisdom  spoke  with  even  greater  ease 
than  himself. 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  and  Avith  no  per¬ 
ceptible  manifestation  of  any  such  “fear  and  trem- 


96 


MR.  ISAACS. 


bling  ”  as  he  professed,  Isaacs  at  once  began  to  speak 
in  his  native  tongue,  and  dropping  all  forms  of  cere¬ 
mony  or  circumlocution  plunged  boldly  into  business. 
He  did  not  hesitate  to  explain  to  the  maharajah  the 
strength  of  his  position,  dwelling  on  the  fact  that, 
by  a  word  to  the  English  of  the  whereabouts  of  Shere 
Ali,  he  could  plunge  Baithopoor  into  hopeless  and 
endless  entanglements,  to  which  there  could  be  but 
one  issue  —  absorption  into  the  British  Raj.  He 
dwelt  on  the  large  sums  the  maharajah  owed  him  for 
assistance  lent  during  the  late  famine,  and  he  skil¬ 
fully  produced  the  impression  that  he  wanted  the 
money  down,  then  and  there. 

“If  your  majesty  should  refuse  to  satisfy  my  just 
claims,  I  have  ample  weapons  by  which  to  satisfy 
them  for  myself,  and  no  considerations  of  mercy  or 
pity  for  your  majesty  will  tempt  me  to  abate  one 
rupee  in  the  account  of  your  indebtedness,  which,  as 
you  well  know,  is  not  swelled  by  any  usurious  inter¬ 
est.  You  could  not  have  borrowed  the  money  on  such 
easy  terms  from  any  bank  in  India  or  England,  and  if 
I  have  been  merciful  hitherto,  I  will  be  so  no  longer. 
What  saitli  the  Apostle  of  Allah?  ‘Verily,  life  for 
life,  and  eye  for  eye,  and  nose  for  nose,  and  ear  for 
ear,  and  tooth  for  tooth,  and  for  wounding  retalia¬ 
tion.7  And  the  time  of  your  promise  is  expired  and 
you  shall  pay  me.  And  is  not  the  wise  Frank,  who 
sittetli  at  my  right  hand,  the  ready  writer,  who  giveth 
to  the  public  every  day  a  new  book  to  read,  the  paper 
of  news,  Kliabar-i-Kliagaz  wherein  are  written  the 


MR.  ISAACS. 


9T 


misdeeds  of  the  wicked,  and  tlie  dealings  of  the 
fraudulent  and  the  unwary  receive  their  just  reward? 
And  think  you  he  will  not  make  a  great  writing, 
several  columns  in  length,  and  deliver  it  to  the 
devils  that  perform  his  bidding,  and  shall  they  not 
multiply  what  he  hath  written,  and  sow  it  broadcast 
over  the  British  Raj  for  the  minor  consideration  of 
one  anna  a  copy,  that  all  shall  see  how  the  Maharajah 
of  Baithopoor  doth  scandalously  repudiate  his  debts, 
and  harbour  traitors  to  the  Raj  in  his  palace?'’ 

Isaacs  said  all  this  in  a  solemn  and  impressive  man¬ 
ner,  calculated  to  inspire  awe  and  terror  in  the  soul 
of  the  unhappy  debtor.  As  for  the  maharajah,  the 
cold  sweat  stood  on  his  face,  and  at  the  last  words 
his  anxiety  was  so  great  that  the  long  fingers  uncurled 
spasmodically  and  the  jewelled  mouthpiece  fell  back, 
as  the  head  of  a  snake,  among  the  silken  coils  of  the 
tube  at  his  feet.  Instantly,  on  feeling  the  grasping 
hand  empty,  his  majesty,  with  more  alacrity  than  I 
would  have  expected,  darted  forward  with  out¬ 
stretched  claws,  as  a  hawk  on  his  prey,  and  seizing 
the  glittering  thing  returned  it  to  his  lips  with  a 
look  of  evident  relief.  It  was  habit,  of  course,  for 
we  were  not  exactly  the  men  to  plunder  him  of  his 
toy,  but  there  was  a  fierceness  about  the  whole  action 
that  spoke  of  the  real  miser.  Then  there  was  silence 
for  a  moment.  The  old  man  was  evidently  greatly 
impressed  by  the  perils  of  his  situation.  Isaacs 
continued. 

“  Your  majesty  well  perceives  that  you  have  sur- 

H 


98 


MR.  ISAACS. 


rounded  yourself  with  dangers  on  all  sides.  No  dan¬ 
ger  threatens  me.  I  could  buy  you  and  Baithopoor 
to-morrow  if  I  chose.  But  I  am  a  just  man.  When 
the  prophet,  whose  name  be  blessed,  saitli  that  we 
shall  have  eye  for  eye,  and  nose  for  nose,  and  for 
wounding  retaliation,  he  saitli  also  that  ‘he  that 
remittetli  the  same  as  alms  it  shall  be  an  atonement 
unto  him.  ’  Now  your  majesty  is  a  hard  man,  and  I 
well  know  that  if  I  force  you  to  pay  me  now  you 
will  cruelly  tax  and  oppress  your  subjects  to  refill 
your  coffers.  And  many  of  your  subjects  are  true 
believers,  following  the  prophet,  upon  whom  be  peace ; 
and  it  is  also  written  ‘Thou  slialt  rob  a  stranger, 
but  thou  shalt  not  rob  a  brother,  ’  —  and  if  I  cause 
you  to  rob  my  brethren  is  not  the  sin  mine,  and  the 
atonement  thereof?  Now  also  has  the  lawful  inter¬ 
est  on  your  bond  mounted  up  to  several  lakhs  of 
rupees.  But  for  the  sake  of  my  brethren  who  are  in 
bondage  to  you,  who  are  an  unbeliever  and  shall  broil 
everlastingly  in  raging  flames,  I  will  yet  make  a 
covenant  with  you,  and  the  agreement  thereof  shall 
be  this : 

“  You  shall  deliver  into  my  hand,  before  the  dark 
half  of  the  next  moon,  the  man”  —  Isaacs  lowered 
his  voice  to  a  whisper,  barely  audible  in  the  still 
room,  where  the  only  sound  heard  as  he  paused  was 
the  tread  of  the  sowar  on  the  verandah  outside  — 
“  the  man  Shere  Ali,  formerly  Emir  of  Afghanistan, 
now  hidden  in  your  palace  of  Baithopoor.  Him  you 
shall  give  to  me  safe  and  untouched  at  the  place 


MR.  ISAACS. 


99 


which  I  shall  choose,  northwards  from  here,  in  the 
pass  towards  Keitung.  And  there  shall  not  be  an 
hair  of  his  head  touched,  and  if  it  is  good  in  my  eyes 
I  will  give  him  up  to  the  British;  and  if  it  is  good 
in  my  eyes,  I  will  slay  him,  and  you  shall  ask  no 
questions.  And  if  you  refuse  to  do  this  I  will  go  to 
the  great  lord  sahib  and  tell  him  of  your  doings,  and 
you  will  be  arrested  before  this  night  and  shall  not 
escape.  But  if  you  consent  and  put  your  hand  to 
this  agreement,  I  will  speak  no  word,  and  you  shall 
depart  in  peace;  and  moreover,  for  the  sake  of  the 
true  believers  in  your  kingdom  I  will  remit  to  you 
the  whole  of  the  interest  on  your  debt;  and  the  bond 
you  shall  pay  at  your  convenience.  I  have  spoken, 
do  you  answer  me.”  Isaacs  calmly  took  from  his 
pocket  two  rolls  covered  with  Persian  writing,  and 
lighting  a  cigarette,  proceeded  to  peruse  them  care¬ 
fully,  to  detect  any  flaw  or  error  in  their  composition. 
The  face  of  the  old  maharajah  betrayed  great  emotion, 
but  he  bravely  pulled  away  at  his  hookah  and  tried 
to  think  over  the  situation.  In  the  hope  of  deliver¬ 
ing  himself  from  his  whole  debt  he  had  rashly  given 
himself  into  the  hands  of  a  man  who  hated  him, 
though  he  had  discovered  that  hatred  too  late.  He 
had  flattered  himself  that  the  loan  had  been  made 
out  of  friendly  feeling  and  a  desire  for  his  interest 
and  support;  he  found  that  Isaacs  had  lent  the 
money,  for  real  or  imaginary  religious  motives,  in 
the  interest  of  his  co-religionists.  I  sat  silently 
watching  the  varying  passions  as  they  swept  over  the 


100 


MR.  ISAACS. 


repulsive  face  of  the  old  man.  The  silence  must 
have  lasted  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

“ Give  me  the  covenant,”  he  said  at  last,  “for  I 
am  in  the  tiger’s  clutches.  I  will  sign  it,  since  I 
must.  But  it  shall  he  requited  to  you,  Abdul  Hafiz; 
and  when  your  body  lias  been  eaten  of  jackals  and 
wild  pigs  in  the  forest,  your  soul  shall  enter  into  the 
shape  of  a  despised  sweeper,  and  you  and  your  off¬ 
spring  shall  scavenge  the  streets  of  the  cities  of  my 
kingdom  and  of  the  kingdom  of  my  son,  and  son’s 
son,  to  ten  thousand  generations.”  A  Hindoo  can¬ 
not  express  scorn  more  deadly  or  hate  more  lasting 
than  this.  Isaacs  smiled,  but  there  was  a  concen¬ 
trated  look  in  his  face,  relentless  and  hard,  as  he 
answered  the  insult. 

% 

“  I  am  not  going  to  bandy  words  with  you.  But 
if  you  are  not  quick  about  signing  that  paper  I  may 
change  my  mind,  and  send  for  the  Angrezi  sowars 
from  Peterhof.  So  you  had  better  hurry  yourself.” 
Isaacs  produced  a  small  inkhorn  and  a  reed  pen  from 
his  pocket.  “Sign,”  he  said,  rising  to  his  feet 
“  before  that  Soldier  outside  passes  the  window  three 
times,  or  I  will  deliver  you  to  the  British.” 

Trembling  in  every  joint,  and  the  perspiration 
standing  on  his  face  like  beads,  the  old  man  seized 
the  pen  and  traced  his  name  and  titles  at  the  foot, 
first  of  one  copy,  and  then  of  the  other.  Isaacs  fol¬ 
lowed,  writing  his  full  name  in  the  Persian  charac¬ 
ter,  and  I  signed  my  name  last,  “Paul  Griggs,”  in 
large  letters  at  the  bottom  of  each  roll,  adding  the 


MR.  ISAACS. 


101 


word  “  witness,”  in  case  of  the  transaction  becoming 
known. 

“And  now,”  said  Isaacs  to  the  maharajah,  “de¬ 
spatch  at  once  a  messenger,  and  let  the  man  here 
mentioned  be  brought  under  a  strong  guard  and  by 
circuitous  roads  to  the  pass  of  Keitung,  and  let  them 
there  encamp  before  the  third  week  from  to-day, 
when  the  moon  is  at  the  full.  And  I  will  be  there 
and  will  receive  the  man.  And  woe  to  you  if  lie 
come  not;  and  woe  to  you  if  you  oppress  the  true 
believers  in  your  realm.”  He  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  I  followed  him  out  of  the  room  after  making  a 
brief  salutation  to  the  old  man,  cowering  among  his 
cushions,  a  ceremony  which  Isaacs  omitted,  whether 
intentionally  or  from  forgetfulness,  I  could  not  say. 
We  passed  through  the  house  out  into  the  air,  and 
mounting  our  horses  rode  away,  leaving  the  double 
row  of  servants  salaaming  to  the  ground.  The  dura¬ 
tion  of  our  private  interview  with  the  maharajah  had 
given  them  an  immense  idea  of  our  importance.  We 
had  come  at  four  and  it  was  now  nearly  five.  The 
long  pauses  and  the  Persian  circumlocutions  had 
occupied  a  good  deal  of  time. 

“You  do  not  seem  to  have  needed  my  counsel  or 
assistance  11111011,”  I  said.  “With  such  an  armoury 
of  weapons  you  could  manage  half-a-dozen  mahara¬ 
jahs.” 

“Yes- — perhaps  so.  But  I  have  strong  reasons 
for  wishing  this  affair  quickly  over,  and  the  editor  of 
a  daily  paper  is  a  thing  of  terror  to  a  native  prince ; 
you  must  have  seen  that.” 


102 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“  What  clo  you  mean  to  do  with  your  man  when  he 
is  safely  in  your  hands,  if  it  is  not  an  indiscreet 
question  ?  ” 

“Do  with  him?”  asked  Isaacs  with  some  astonish¬ 
ment.  “Is  it  possible  you  have  not  guessed?  He 
is  a  brave  man,  and  a  true  believer.  I  will  give  him 
money  and  letters,  that  he  may  make  his  way  to 
Baghdad,  or  wherever  he  will  be  safe.  He  shall 
depart  in  peace,  and  be  as  free  as  air.” 

I  had  half  suspected  my  friend  of  some  such  gener¬ 
ous  intention,  but  he  had  played  his  part  of  unrelent¬ 
ing  hardness  so  well  in  our  late  interview  with  the 
Hindoo  prince  that  it  seemed  incomprehensible  that 
a  man  should  be  so  pitiless  and  so  kind  on  the  same 
day.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  hardness  on  his  beauti¬ 
ful  features  now,  and  as  we.  rounded  the  hill  and 
caught  the  last  beams  of  the  sun,  now  sinking  behind 
the  mountains,  his  face  seemed  transfigured  as  with 
a  glory,  and  I  could  hardly  bear  to  look  at  him.  He 
held  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  faced  the  west  for  an 
instant,  as  though  thanking  the  declining  day  for  its 
freshness  and  beauty;  and  I  thought  to  myself  that 
the  sun  was  lucky  to  see  such  an  exquisite  picture 
before  he  bid  Simla  good-night,  and  that  he  should 
shine  the  brighter  for  it  the  next  day,  since  he  would 
look  on  nothing  fairer  in  his  twelve  hours’  wander¬ 
ing  over  the  other  half  of  creation. 

“And  now,”  said  he,  “it  is  late,  but  if  we  ride 
towards  Annandale  we  may  meet  them  coming  back 


MR.  ISAACS. 


103 


from  the  polo  match  we  have  missed.”  His  eyes 
glowed  at  the  thought.  Shere  Ali,  the  maharajah, 
bonds,  principal,  and  interest,  were  all  forgotten  in 
the  anticipation  of  a  brief  meeting  with  the  woman 
he  loved. 


104 


MR.  ISAACS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

“  Why  did  you  not  come  and  see  the  game  ?  After 
all  your  enthusiasm  about  polo  this  morning,  I  did 
not  think  you  would  miss  anything  so  good,”  were 
the  first  words  of  Miss  W estonhaugh  as  we  met  her 
and  Kildare  in  the  narrow  path  that  leads  down  to 
Annandale.  Two  men  were  riding  behind  them, 
who  proved  to  be  Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins  and  Mr.  John 
Westonhaugh.  The  latter  was  duly  introduced  to 
us;  a  quiet,  spare  man,  with  liis  sister’s  features, 
but  without  a  trace  of  her  superb  colour  and  animal 
spirits.  Pie  had  the  real  Bombay  paleness,  and  had 
been  steamed  to  the  bone  through  the  rains.  As  we 
were  introduced,  Isaacs  started  and  said  quickly  that 
he  believed  he  had  met  Mr.  Westonhaugh  before. 

“It  is  possible,  quite  possible,”  said  that  gentle¬ 
man  affably,  “especially  if  you  ever  go  to  Bombay.” 

“  Yes  —  it  was  in  Bombay  —  some  twelve  years  ago. 
You  have  probably  forgotten  me.” 

“Ah,  yes.  I  was  young  and  green  then.  I  won¬ 
der  you  remember  me.”  He  did  not  show  any  very 
lively  interest  in  the  matter,  though  he  smiled 
pleasantly. 

Miss  Westonhaugh  must  have  been  teasing  Lord 


105 


ME.  ISAACS. 

Steepleton,  for  lie  looked  flushed  and  annoyed,  and 
she  was  in  capital  spirits.  We  turned  to  go  back 
with  the  party,  and  by  a  turn  of  the  wrist  Isaacs 
wheeled  his  horse  to  the  side  of  Miss  Westonliaugh’s, 
a  position  he  did  not  again  abandon.  They  were 
leading,  and  I  resolved  they  should  have  a  chance, 
as  the  path  was  not  broad  enough  for  more  than  two 
to  ride  abreast.  So  I  furtively  excited  my  horse  by 
a  touch  of  the  heel  and  a  quick  strain  on  the  curb, 
throwing  him  across  the  road,  and  thus  producing  a 
momentary  delay,  of  which  the  two  riders  in  front 
took  advantage  to  increase  their  distance.  Then  we 
fell  in,  Mr.  Gliyrkins  and  I  in  front,  while  the 
dejected  Kildare  rode  behind  with  Mr.  John  Weston- 
liaugh.  Gliyrkins  and  I,  being  heavy  men,  heavily 
mounted,  controlled  the  situation,  and  before  long 
Isaacs  and  Miss  Westonhaugh  were  a  couple  of  hun¬ 
dred  yards  ahead,  and  we  only  caught  occasional 
glimpses  of  them  through  the  trees  as  they  wound  in 
and  out  along  the  path. 

“What  are  those  youngsters  talking  about,  back 
there?  Tigers,  I’ll  be  bound,”  said  Mr.  Gliyrkins 
to  me.  Sure  enough,  they  were. 

“  What  do  you  suppose  I  found  when  we  got  back 
this  afternoon,  Mr.  Griggs  ?  Why,  this  hairbrained 

young  Kildare  has  been  proposing  to  my  niece - ” 

his  horse  stumbled,  but  recovered  himself  in  a 
moment. 

“You  don’t  mean  it,”  said  I,  rather  startled. 

“Oh  no,  no,  no.  I  don’t  mean  that  at  all.  Ha! 


106 


MR.  ISAACS. 


liii!  ha!  very  good,  very  good.  No,  no.  Lord 
Steepleton  wants  us  all  to  go  on  a  tiger-hunt  to 
amuse  John,  and  he  proposes — ha!  ha!  — really  too 
funny  of  me  —  that  Miss  Westonhaugh  should  go 
with  us.” 

“  I  suppose  you  have  no  objection,  Mr.  Ghyrkins  ? 
Ladies  constantly  go  on  such  expeditions,  and  they 
do  not  appear  to  be  the  least  in  the  way.” 

“  Objections  ?  Of  course  I  have  objections.  Do 
you  suppose  I  want  to  drag  my  niece  to  a  premature 
grave  ?  Think  of  the  fever  and  the  rough  living  and 
all,  and  she  only  just  out  from  England.” 

“She  looks  as  if  she  could  stand  anything,”  I  said, 
as  just  then  an  open  space  in  the  trees  gave  us  a 
glimpse  of  Miss  Westonhaugh  and  Isaacs  ambling 
along  and  apparently  in  earnest  conversation.  She 
certainly  looked  strong  enough  to  go  tiger-hunting 
that  minute,  as  she  sat  erect  hut  half  turned  to  the 
off  side,  listening  to  what  Isaacs  seemed  to  he  saying. 

“I  hope  you  will  not  go  and  tell  her  so,”  said 
Ghyrkins.  “  If  she  gets  an  idea  that  the  thing  is 
possible,  there  will  he  no  holding  her.  You  don’t 
know  her.  I  hardly  know  her  myself.  Never  saw 
her  since  she  was  a  baby  till  the  other  day.  Now 
you  are  the  sort  of  person  to  go  after  tigers.  Why 
do  you  not  go  off  with  my  nephew  and  Mr.  Isaacs 
and  Kildare,  and  kill  as  many  of  them  as  you  like  ?  ” 

“I  have  no  objection,  I  am  sure.  I  suppose  the 
Hoivler  could  spare  me  for  a  fortnight,  now  that  I 
have  converted  the  Press  Commissioner,  your  new 


MR.  ISAACS. 


10T 


deus  ex  machind  for  the  obstruction  of  news.  What 
a  motley  party  we  should  be.  Let  me  see- — a  Bom¬ 
bay  Civil  Servant,  an  Irish  nobleman,  a  Persian 
millionaire,  and  a  Yankee  newspaper  man.  By 
Jove!  add  to  that  a  famous  Revenue  Commissioner 
and  a  reigning  beauty,  and  the  sextett  is  complete.” 
Mr.  Ghyrkins  looked  pleased  at  the  gross  flattery 
of  himself.  I  recollected  suddenly  that,  though  he 
was  far  from  famous  as  a  revenue  commissioner,  I 
had  read  of  some  good  shooting  he  had  done  in  his 
younger  days.  Here  was  a  chance. 

“Besides,  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  a  tiger-liunting  party 
would  not  be  the  thing  without  some  seasoned  Nim¬ 
rod  to  advise  and  direct  us.  Who  so  fitted  for  the 
post  as  the  man  of  many  a  chase,  the  companion  of 
Maori,  the  slayer  of  the  twelve  foot  tiger  in  the 
Nepaul  hills  in  1861?” 

“You  have  a  good  memory,  Mr.  Griggs,”  said  the 
old  fellow,  perfectly  delighted,  and  now  fairly 
launched  on  his  favourite  topic.  “  By  Gad,  sir,  if  I 
thought  I  should  get  such  another  chance  I  would 
go  with  you  to-morrow!  ” 

“Why  not?  there  are  lots  of  big  man-eaters 
about,”  and  I  incontinently  reeled  off  half  a  page  of 
statistics,  more  or  less  accurate,  about  the  number 
of  persons  destroyed  by  snakes  and  wild  beasts  in  the 
last  year.  “  Of  course  most  of  those  deaths  were 
from  tigers,  and  it  is  a  really  good  action  to  kill  a 
few.  Many  people  can  see  tigers  but  cannot  shoot 
them,  whereas  your  deeds  of  death  amongst  them 


108 


MR.  ISAACS. 


are  a  matter  of  history.  You  really  ought  to  be  phil¬ 
anthropic,  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  and  go  with  us.  We 
might  stand  a  chance  of  seeing  some  real  sport  then.” 

“  Why,  really,  now  that  you  make  me  think  of  it,  I 
believe  I  should  like  it  amazingly,  and  I  could  leave 
my  niece  with  Lady  —  Lady  —  Stick-in-the-mud  ; 
what  the  deuce  is  her  name  ?  The  wife  of  the  Chief 
Justice,  you  know.  You  ought  to  know,  really  —  I 
never  remember  names  much;”  he  jerked  out  his 
sentences  irately. 

“  Certainly,  Lady  Smith-Tompkins,  you  mean. 
Yes,  you  might  do  that  —  that  is,  if  Miss  Weston- 
haugli  has  had  the  measles,  and  is  not  afraid  of  them. 
1  heard  this  morning  that  three  of  the  little  Smitli- 
Tompkinses  had  them  cpiite  badly.” 

“You  don’t  say  so!  Well,  well,  we  shall  find 
some  one  else,  no  doubt.” 

I  was  certain  that  at  that  very  moment  Isaacs  and 
Miss  Westonliaugh  were  planning  the  whole  expedi¬ 
tion,  and  so  I  returned  to  the  question  of  sport  and 
inquired  where  we  should  go.  This  led  to  consider¬ 
able  discussion,  and  before  we  arrived  at  Mr.  Ghyr¬ 
kins’  bungalow  —  still  in  the  same  order  —  it  was 
very  clear  that  the  old  sportsman  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  kill  one  more  tiger  at  all  events ;  and  that, 
rather  than  forego  the  enjoyment  of  the  chase,  he 
would  be  willing  to  take  his  niece  with  him.  As 
for  the  direction  of  the  expedition,  that  could  be 
decided  in  a  day  or  two.  It  was  not  the  best  season 
for  tigers  —  the  early  spring  is  better — but  they  are 


MR.  ISAACS. 


109 


always  to  be  found  in  the  forests  of  the  Terai,  the 
country  along  the  base  of  the  hills,  north  of  Oude. 

When  we  reached  the  house  it  was  quite  dark,  for 
we  had  ridden  slowly.  The  light  from  the  open 
door,  falling  across  the  verandah,  showed  us  Miss 
Westonhaugh  seated  in  a  huge  chair,  and  Isaacs 
standing  by  her  side  slightly  bending,  and  holding 
his  hat  in  his  hand.  They  were  still  talking,  but 
as  we  rode  up  to  the  lawn  and  shouted  for  the  saices, 
Isaacs  stood  up  and  looked  across  towards  us,  and 
their  voices  ceased.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  suc¬ 
ceeded  in  thoroughly  interesting  her,  for  I  thought — • 
though  it  was  some  distance,  and  the  light  on  them 
was  not  strong  —  that  as  he  straightened  himself 
and  stopped  speaking,  she  looked  up  to  his  face  as 
if  regretting  that  he  did  not  go  on.  I  dismounted 
with  the  rest  and  walked  up  to  bid  Miss  Weston¬ 
haugh  good-night. 

“You  must  come  and  dine  to-morrow  night,”  said 
Mr.  Gliyrkins,  “and  we  will  arrange  all  about  it. 
Sharp  seven.  To-morrow  is  Sunday,  you  know. 
Kildare,  you  must  come  too,  if  you  mean  business. 
Seven.  We  must  look  sharp  and  start,  if  we  mean 
to  come  back  here  before  the  Viceroy  goes.” 

“Oh  in  that  case,”  said  Kildare,  turning  to  me, 
“we  can  settle  all  about  the  polo  match  for  Monday, 
can’t  we ?  ” 

“Of  course,  very  good  of  you  to  take  the  trouble.” 

“Not  a  bit  of  it.  Good-night.”  We  bowed  and 
went  back  to  find  our  horses  in  the  gloom.  After 


110 


MR.  ISAACS. 


some  fumbling,  for  it  was  intensely  dark  after  facing 
the  light  in  the  doorway  of  the  bungalow,  we  got 
into  the  saddle  and  turned  homeward  through  the 
trees. 

“Thank  you,  Griggs,”  said  Isaacs.  “May  your 
feet  never  weary,  and  your  shadow  never  be  less.” 

“Don’t  mention  it,  and  thanks  about  the  shadow. 
Only  it  is  never  likely  to  be  less  than  at  the  present 
moment.  How  dark  it  is,  to  be  sure !  ”  I  knew  well 
enough  what  he  was  thanking  me  for.  I  lit  a 
cheroot. 

“Isaacs,”  I  said,  “you  are  a  pretty  cool  hand,  upon 
my  word.” 

“Why?” 

“Why,  indeed!  Here  you  and  Miss  Westonhaugh 
have  been  calmly  planning  an  extensive  tiger-hunt, 
when  you  have  promised  to  be  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Keitung  in  three  weeks,  wherever  that  may  be. 
I  suppose  it  is  in  the  opposite  direction  from  here., 
for  you  will  not  find  any  tigers  nearer  than  the  Terai 
at  this  time  of  year.” 

“I  do  not  see  the  difficulty,”  he  answered.  “We 
can  be  in  Oude  in  two  days  from  here ;  shoot  tigers 
for  ten  days,  and  be  here  again  in  two  days  more. 
That  is  just  a  fortnight.  It  will  not  take  me  a  week 
to  reach  Keitung.  I  am  much  mistaken  if  I  do  not 
get  there  in  three  days.  I  shall  lay  a  ddk  by  mes¬ 
sengers  before  I  go  to  Oude,  and  between  a  double 
set  of  coolies  and  lots  of  ponies  wherever  the  roads 
are  good  enough,  I  shall  be  at  the  place  of  meeting 
soon  enough,  never  fear.” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


Ill 


“  Oh,  very  well ;  but  I  hardly  think  Ghyrkins  will 
want  to  return  under  three  weeks ;  and  —  I  did  not 
think  you  would  want  to  leave  the  party.”  He  had 
evidently  planned  the  whole  three  weeks’  business 
carefully.  I  did  not  continue  the  conversation.  He 
was  naturally  absorbed  in  the  arrangement  of  his 
numerous  schemes  —  no  easy  matter,  when  affairs  of 
magnitude  have  to  be  ordered  to  suit  the  exigencies 
of  a  grande  passion.  I  shrank  from  intruding  on  his 
reflections,  and  I  had  quite  enough  to  do  in  keeping 
my  horse  on  his  feet  in  the  thick  darkness.  Sud¬ 
denly  he  reared  violently,  and  then  stood  still, 
quivering  in  every  limb.  Isaacs’  horse  plunged  and 
snorted  by  my  side,  and  cannoned  heavily  against 
me.  Then  all  was  quiet.  I  could  see  nothing. 
Presently  a  voice,  low  and  musical,  broke  on  the 
darkness,  and  I  thought  I  could  distinguish  a  tall 
figure  on  foot  at  Isaacs’  knee.  Whoever  the  man 
'jyas  he  must  be  on  the  other  side  of  my  companion, 
but  I  made  out  a  head  from  which  the  voice  proceeded. 

“Peace,  Abdul  Hafiz!”  it  said. 

“Aleikum  Salaam,  Ram  Lai!”  answered  Isaacs. 
He  must  have  recognised  the  man  by  his  voice. 

“Abdul,”  continued  the  stranger,  speaking  Per¬ 
sian.  “I  have  business  with  thee  this  night;  thou 
art  going  home.  If  it  is  thy  pleasure  I  will  be  with 
thee  in  two  hours  in  thy  dwelling.” 

“Thy  pleasure  is  my  pleasure.  Be  it  so.”  I 
thought  the  head  disappeared. 

“Be  it  so,”  the  voice  echoed,  growing  faint,  as  if 


112 


MR.  ISAACS. 


moving  rapidly  away  from  us.  The  horses,  momen¬ 
tarily  startled  by  the  unexpected  pedestrian,  regained 
their  equanimity.  I  confess  the  incident  gave  me  a 
curiously  unpleasant  sensation.  It  was  so  very  odd 
that  a  man  on  root  —  a  Persian,  I  judged,  by  his 
accent  —  should  know  of  my  companion’s  where¬ 
abouts,  and  that  they  should  recognise  each  other  by 
their  voices.  I  recollected  that  our  coming  to  Mr. 
Ghyrkins’  bungalow  was  wholly  unpremeditated, 
and  I  was  sure  Isaacs  had  spoken  to  none  but  our 
party  —  not  even  to  his  saice  —  since  our  meeting 
with  the  Westonhaughs  on  the  Annandale  road  an 
hour  and  a  half  before. 

“I  wonder  what  he  wants,”  said  my  friend,  appar¬ 
ently  soliloquising. 

“He  seems  to  know  where  to  find  you,  at  all 
events,”  I  answered.  “He  must  have  second  sight 
to  know  you  had  been  to  Carisbrooke.” 

“  He  lias.  He  is  a  very  singular  personage  alto¬ 
gether.  However,  he  has  done  me  more  than  one 
service  before  now,  and  though  I  do  not  comprehend 
his  method  of  arriving  at  conclusions,  still  less  his 
mode  of  locomotion,  I  am  always  glad  of  his  advice.” 

“But  what  is  he?  Is  he  a  Persian?  —  you  called 
him  by  an  Indian  name,  but  that  may  be  a  disguise  — 
is  he  a  wise  man  from  Iran?” 

“He  is  a  very  wise  man,  but  not  from  Iran.  Ho. 
He  is  a  Brahmin  by  birth,  a  Buddhist  by  adopted 
religion,  and  he  calls  himself  an  4  adept  ’  by  profes¬ 
sion,  I  suppose,  if  he  can  be  said  to  have  any.  He 


MR.  ISAACS. 


113 


comes  and  goes  unexpectedly,  with  amazing  rapidity. 
His  visits  are  brief,  but  be  always  seems  to  be  perfectly 
conversant  with  the  matter  in  band,  whatever  it  be. 
He  will  come  to-niglit  and  give  me  about  twenty 
words  of  advice,  which  I  may  follow  or  may  not,  as  my 
judgment  dictates;  and  before  I  have  answered  or 
recovered  from  my  surprise,  be  will  have  vanished, 
apparently  into  space ;  for  if  I  ask  my  servants  where 
be  is  gone  they  will  stare  at  me  as  if  I  were  crazy, 
until  I  show  them  that  the  room  is  empty,  and  accuse 
them  of  going  to  sleep  instead  of  seeing  who  goes 
in  and  out  of  my  apartment.  He  speaks  more 
languages  than  I  do,  and  better.  He  once  told  me 
be  was  educated  in  Edinburgh,  and  bis  perfect 
knowledge  of  European  affairs  and  of  European 
topics  leads  me  to  think  be  must  have  been  there  a 
long  time.  Have  you  ever  looked  into  the  higher 
phases  of  Buddhism?  It  is  a  very  interesting 
study.” 

“Yes,  I  have  read  something  about  it.  Indeed  I 
have  read  a  good  deal,  and  have  thought  more.  The 
subject  is  full  of  interest,  as  you  say.  If  I  bad  been 
an  Asiatic  by  birth,  I  am  sure  I  should  have  sought 
to  attain  moksha ,  even  if  it  required  a  lifetime  to 
pass  through  all  the  degrees  of  initiation.  There  is 
something  so  rational  about  their  theories,  disclaim¬ 
ing,  as  they  do,  all  supernatural  power;  and,  at  the 
same  time,  there  is  something  so  pure  and  high  in 
their  conception  of  life,  in  their  ideas  about  the 
ideal,  if  you  will  allow  me  the  expression,  that  I  do 

i 

l 


114 


MR.  ISAACS. 


not  wonder  Edwin  Arnold  has  set  our  American 
transcendentalists  and  Unitarians  and  freethinkers 
speculating  about  it  all,  and  wondering  whether  the 
East  may  not  have  had  men  as  great  as  Emerson 
and  Channing  among  its  teachers.”  I  paused.  My 
greatest  fault  is  that  if  any  one  starts  me  upon  a  sub¬ 
ject  I  know  anything  about,  I  immediately  become 
didactic.  So  I  paused  and  reflected  that  Isaacs, 
being,  as  he  himself  declared,  frequently  in  the 
society  of  an  “adept”  of  a  high  class,  was  sure  to 
know  a  great  deal  more  than  I. 

“I  too,”  he  said,  “have  been  greatly  struck,  and 
sometimes  almost  converted,  by  the  beauty  of  the 
higher  Buddhist  thoughts.  As  for  their  apparently 
supernatural  powers  and  what  they  do  with  them,  I 
care  nothing  about  phenomena  of  that  description. 
We  live  in  a  land  where  marvels  are  common  enough. 
Who  has  ever  explained  the  mango  trick,  or  the 
basket  trick,  or  the  man  who  throws  a  rope  up  into 
the  air  and  then  climbs  up  it  and  takes  the  rope  after 
him,  disappearing  into  blue  space?  And  yet  you 
have  seen  those  things  —  I  have  seen  them,  every  one 
has  seen  them,  —  and  the  performers  claim  no  super¬ 
natural  agency  or  assistance.  It  is  merely  a  differ¬ 
ence  of  degree,  whether  you  make  a  mango  grow  from 
the  seed  to  the  tree  in  half  an  hour,  or  whether  you 
transport  yourself  ten  thousand  miles  in  as  many 
seconds,  passing  through  walls  of  brick  and  stone  on 
your  way,  and  astonishing  some  ordinary  mortal  by 
showing  that  you  know  all  about  his  affairs.  I  see 


MR.  ISAACS. 


115 


no  essential  difference  between  tlie  two  ‘phenomena,’ 
as  the  newspapers  call  them,  since  Madame  Blavatsky 
has  set  them  all  by  the  ears  in  this  country.  It  is 
just  the  difference  in  the  amount  of  power  brought 
to  bear  on  the  action.  That  is  all.  I  have  seen,  in 
a  workshop  in  Calcutta,  a  hammer  that  would  crack 
an  eggshell  without  crushing  it,  or  bruise  a  lump  of 
iron  as  big  as  your  head  into  a  flat  cake.  ‘Phenom¬ 
ena’  may  amuse  women  and  children,  but  the  real 
beauty  of  the  system  lies  in  the  promised  attainment 
of  happiness.  Whether  that  state  of  supreme  freedom 
from  earthly  care  gives  the  fortunate  initiate  the 
power  of  projecting  himself  to  the  antipodes  by  a 
mere  act  of  volition,  or  of  condensing  the  astral  fluid 
into  articles  of  daily  use,  or  of  stimulating  the  vital 
forces  of  nature  to  an  abnormal  activity,  is  to  me  a 
matter  of  supreme  indifference.  I  am  tolerably  happy 
in  my  own  way  as  things  are.  I  should  not  be  a 
whit  happier  if  I  were  able  to  go  off  after  dinner  and 
take  a  part  in  American  politics  for  a  few  hours, 
returning  to  business  here  to-morrow  morning.” 

“That  is  an  extreme  case,”  I  said.  “No  man  in 
his  senses  ever  connects  the  idea  of  happiness  with 
American  politics.” 

“Of  one  thing  I  am  sure,  though.”  He  paused  as 
if  choosing  his  words.  “I  am  sure  of  this.  If  any 
unforeseen  event,  whether  an  act  of  folly  of  my  dwn, 
or  the  hand  of  Allah,  who  is  wise,  should  destroy 
the  peace  of  mind  I  have  enjoyed  for  ten  years,  with 
very  trifling  interruption, —  if  anything  should  occur 


116 


MR.  ISAACS. 


to  make  me  permanently  unhappy,  beyond  the  possi¬ 
bility  of  ordinary  consolation,- — I  should  seek  com¬ 
fort  in  the  study  of  the  pure  doctrines  of  the  higher 
Buddhists.  The  pursuit  of  a  happiness,  so  immeasur¬ 
ably  beyond  all  earthly  considerations  of  bodily  com¬ 
fort  or  of  physical  enjoyment,  can  surely  not  be 
inconsistent  with  my  religion  —  or  with  yours.’’ 

“No  indeed,”  said  I.  “But,  considering  that  you 
are  the  strictest  of  Mohammedans,  it  seems  to  me  you 
are  wonderfully  liberal.  So  you  have  seriously  con¬ 
templated  the  possibility  of  your  becoming  one  of  the 
‘brethren’  —  as  they  style  themselves  ?  ” 

“It  never  struck  me  until  to-day  that  anything 
might  occur  by  which  my  life  could  be  permanently 
disturbed.  Something  to-day  has  whispered  to  me 
that  such  an  existence  could  not  be  permanent.  I 
am  sure  that  it  cannot  be.  The  issue  must  be  either 
to  an  infinite  happiness  or  to  a  still  more  infinite 
misery.  I  cannot  tell  which.”  His  clear,  evenly 
modulated  voice  trembled  a  little.  We  were  in  sight 
of  the  lights  from  the  hotel. 

“I  shall  not  dine  with  you  to-night,  Griggs.  I 
will  have  something  in  my  own  rooms.  Come  in  as 
soon  as  you  have  done  —  that  is  if  you  are  free. 
There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  see  Ram  Lai 
the  adept,  since  we  think  alike  about  his  religion,  or 
school,  or  philosophy  —  find  a  name  for  it  while  you 
are  dining.”  And  we  separated  for  a  time. 

It  had  been  a  long  and  exciting  day  to  me.  I  felt 
no  more  inclined  than  he  did  for  the  din  and  racket 


MR.  ISAACS. 


117 


and  lights  of  the  public  dining-room.  So  I  followed 
his  example  and  had  something  in  my  own  apart¬ 
ment.  Then  I  settled  myself  to  a  hookah,  resolved 
not  to  take  advantage  of  Isaacs’  invitation  until  near 
the  time  when  he  expected  Ram  Lai.  I  felt  the  need 
of  an  hour’s  solitude  to  collect  my  thoughts  and  to 
think  over  the  events  of  the  last  twenty-four  hours. 
I  recognised  that  I  was  fast  becoming  very  intimate 
with  Isaacs,  and  I  wanted  to  think  about  him  and 
excogitate  the  problem  of  his  life;  but  when  I  tried 
to  revolve  the  situation  logically,  and  deliver  to  my¬ 
self  a  verdict,  I  found  myself  carried  off  at  a  tangent 
by  the  wonderful  pictures  that  passed  before  my  eyes. 
I  could  not  detach  the  events  from  the  individual. 
His  face  was  ever  before  me,  whether  I  thought  of 
Miss  W estonliaugh,  or  of  the  wretched  old  maharajah, 
or  of  Ram  Lai  the  Buddhist.  Isaacs  was  the  central 
figure  in  every  picture,  always  in  the  front,  always 
calm  and  beautiful,  always  controlling  the  events 
around  him.  Then  I  entered  on  a  series  of  trite 
reflections  to  soothe  my  baffled  reason,  as  a  man  will 
who  is  used  to  understanding  what  goes  on  before 
him  and  suddenly  finds  himself  at  a  loss.  Of  course, 
I  said  to  myself,  it  is  no  wonder  he  controls  things, 
or  appears  to.  The  circumstances  in  which  I  find 
this  three  days’  acquaintance  are  emphatically  those 
of  his  own  making.  He  has  always  been  a  success¬ 
ful  man,  and  he  would  not  raise  spirits  that  he  could 
not  keep  well  in  hand.  He  knows  perfectly  well 
what  he  is  about  in  making  love  to  that  beautiful 


118 


MR.  ISAACS. 


creature,  and  is  no  doubt  at  this  moment  laughing 
in  his  sleeve  at  my  simplicity  in  believing  that  he 
was  really  asking  my  advice.  Pshaw!  .as  if  any 
advice  could  influence  a  man  like  that!  Absurd. 

I  sipped  my  coffee  in  disgust  with  myself.  All 
the  time,  while  trying  to  persuade  myself  that  Isaacs 
was  only  a  very  successful  schemer,  neither  better 
nor  worse  than  other  men,  I  was  conscious  of  the 
face  that  would  not  be  banished  from  my  sight.  I 
saw  the  beautiful  boyish  look  in  his  deep  dark  eyes, 
the  gentle  curve  of  the  mouth,  the  grand  smooth 
architrave  of  the  brows.  No  —  I  was  a  fool!  I  had 
never  met  a  man  like  him,  nor  should  again.  How 
could  Miss  Westonhaugh  save  herself  from  loving 
such  a  perfect  creature  ?  I  thought,  too,  of  his  gen¬ 
erosity.  He  would  surely  keep  his  promise  and 
deliver  poor  Shere  Ali,  hunted  to  death  by  English 
and  Afghan  foes,  from  all  his  troubles.  Had  he  not 
the  Maharajah  of  Baithopoor  in  his  power?  He 
might  have  exacted  the  full  payment  of  the  debt, 
principal  and  interest,  and  saved  the  Afghan  chief 
into  the  bargain.  But  he  feared  lest  the  poor 
Mohammedans  should  suffer  from  the  prince’s  extor¬ 
tion,  and  he  forgave  freely  the  interest,  amounting 
now  to  a  large  sum,  and  put  off  the  payment  of  the 
bond  itself  to  the  maharajah’s  convenience.  Did 
ever  an  Oriental  forgive  a  debt  before  even  to  his  own 
brother?  Not  in  my  experience. 

I  rose  and  went  down  to  Isaacs.  I  found  him  as 
on  the  previous  evening,  among  his  cushions  with  a 


MR.  ISAACS. 


119 


manuscript  book.  He  looked  up  smiling  and  motioned 
me  to  be  seated,  keeping  liis  place  on  the  page  with 
one  finger.  He  finished  the  verse  before  he  spoke, 
and  then  laid  the  book  down  and  leaned  back. 

“  So  you  have  made  up  your  mind  that  you  would 
like  to  see  Ram  Lai.  He  will  be  here  in  a  minute, 
unless  he  changes  his  mind  and  does  not  come  after 
all.” 

There  was  a  sound  of  voices  outside.  Some  one 
asked  if  Isaacs  were  in,  and  the  servant  answered. 
A  tall  figure  in  a  gray  caftan  and  a  plain  white  tur¬ 
ban  stood  in  the  door. 

“I  never  change  my  mind,”  said  the  stranger,  in 
excellent  English,  though  with  an  accent  peculiar 
to  the  Hindoo  tongue  when  struggling  with  European 
languages.  His  voice  was  musical  and  high  in  pitch, 
though  soft  and  sweet  in  tone.  The  quality  of  voice 
that  can  be  heard  at  a  great  distance,  with  no  appar¬ 
ent  effort  to  the  speaker.  “  I  never  change  my  mind. 
I  am  here.  Is  it  well  with  you?” 

“It  is  well,  Ram  Lai.  I  thank  you.  Be  seated, 
if  you  will  stay  with  us  a  while.  This  is  my  friend 
Mr.  Griggs,  of  whom  you  probably  know.  He  thinks 
as  I  do  on  many  points,  and  I  was  anxious  that  you 
should  meet.” 

While  Isaacs  was  speaking,  Ram  Lai  advanced 
into  the  room  and  stood  a  moment  under  the  soft 
light,  a  gray  figure,  very  tall,  but  not  otherwise 
remarkable.  He  was  all  gray.  The  long  caftan 
wrapped  round  him,  the  turban  which  I  had  first 


120 


MR.  ISAACS. 


thought  white,  the  skin  of  his  face,  the  pointed  heard 
and  long  moustache,  the  heavy  eyebrows  —  a  study 
of  grays  against  the  barbaric  splendour  of  the  richly 
hung  wall  —  a  soft  outline  on  which  the  yellow 
light  dwelt  lovingly,  as  if  weary  of  being  cast  back 
and  reflected  from  the  glory  of  gold  and  the  thousand 
facets  of  the  priceless  gems.  Ram  Lai  looked  toward 
me,  and  as  I  gazed  into  his  eyes  I  saw  that  they  too 
were  gray  —  a  very  singular  thing  in  the  East  —  and 
that  they  were  very  far  apart,  giving  his  face  a  look 
of  great  dignity  and  fearless  frankness.  To  judge 
by  his  features  he  seemed  to  be  very  thin,  and  his 
high  shoulders  were  angular,  though  the  long  loose 
garment  concealed  the  rest  of  his  frame  from  view. 
I  had  plenty  of  time  to  note  these  details,  for  he 
stood  a  full  minute  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  as  if 
deciding  whether  to  remain  or  to  go.  Then  he  moved 
quietly  to  a  divan  and  sat  down  cross-legged. 

“Abdul,  you  have  done  a  good  deed  to-day,  and 
I  trust  you  will  not  change  your  mind  before  you 
have  carried  out  your  present  intentions.” 

“I  never  change  my  mind,  Ram  Lai,”  said  Isaacs, 
smiling  as  he  quoted  his  visitor’s  own  words.  I  was 
startled  at  first.  What  good  deed  was  the  Buddhist 
referring  to  if  not  to  the  intended  liberation  of  Sliere 
Ali?  How  could  he  know  of  it?  Then  I  reflected 
that  this  man  was,  according  to  Isaacs’  declaration, 
an  adept  of  the  higher  grades,  a  seer  and  a  knower  of 
men’s  hearts.  I  resolved  not  to  be  astonished  at  any¬ 
thing  that  occurred,  only  marvelling  that  it  should 


MR.  ISAACS. 


121 


have  pleased  this  extraordinary  man  to  make  his 
entrance  like  an  ordinary  mortal,  instead  of  through 
the  floor  or  the  ceiling. 

“Pardon  me,”  answered  Ram  Lai,  “if  I  venture  to 
contradict  you.  You  do  change  your  mind  some¬ 
times.  Who  was  it  who  lately  scoffed  at  women, 
their  immortality,  their  virtue,  and  their  intellect? 
Will  you  tell  me  now,  friend  Abdul,  that  you  have 
not  changed  your  mind?  Do  you  think  of  anything, 
sleeping  or  waking,  but  the  one  woman  for  whom 
you  have  changed  your  mind?  Is  not  her  picture 
ever  before  you,  and  the  breath  of  her  beauty  upon 
your  soul?  Have  you  not  met  her  in  the  spirit  as 
well  as  in  the  flesh?  Surely  we  shall  hear  no  more 
of  your  doubts  about  women  for  some  time  to  come. 
I  congratulate  you,  as  far  as  that  goes,  on  your  con¬ 
version.  You  have  made  a  step  towards  a  higher 
understanding  of  the  world  you  live  in.” 

Isaacs  did  not  seem  in  the  least  surprised  at  his 
visitor’s  intimate  acquaintance  with  his  affairs.  He 
bowed  his  head  in  silence,  acquiescing  to  what  Ram 
Lai  had  said,  and  waited  for  him  to  proceed. 

“I  have  come,”  continued  the  Buddhist,  “to  give 
you  some  good  advice  —  the  best  I  have  for  you.  You 
will  probably  not  take  it,  for  you  are  the  most  self- 
reliant  man  I  know,  though  you  have  changed  a  little 
since  you  have  been  in  love,  witness  your  sudden 
intimacy  with  Mr.  Griggs.”  He  looked  at  me,  and 
there  was  a  faint  approach  to  a  smile  in  his  gray 
eyes.  “My  advice  to  you  is,  do  not  let  this  pro- 


122 


MR.  ISAACS. 


jected  tiger-hunt  take  place  if  you  can  prevent  it. 
No  good  can  come  of  it,  and  harm  may.  Now  I  have 
spoken  because  my  mind  would  not  be  at  rest  if  I 
did  not  warn  you.  Of  course  you  will  do  as  you 
jilease,  only  never  forget  that  I  pointed  out  to  you 
the  right  course  in  time.” 

“Thank  you,  Ram  Lai,  for  your  friendly  concern 
in  my  behalf.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  act  as  you  sug¬ 
gest,  but  1  am  nevertheless  grateful  to  you.  There 
is  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you,  and  consult  you 
about,  however.” 

“My  friend,  what  is  the  use  of  my  giving  you 
advice  that  you  will  not  follow?  If  I  lived  with 
you,  and  were  your  constant  companion,  you  would 
ask  me  to  advise  you  twenty  times  a  day,  and  then 
you  would  go  and  do  the  diametric  opposite  of  what 
I  suggested.  If  I  did  not  see  in  you  something  that 
I  see  in  few  other  men,  I  would  not  be  here.  There 
are  plenty  of  fools  who  have  wit  enough  to  take 
counsel  of  a  wise  man.  There  are  few  men  of  wit 
wise  enough  to  be  guided  by  their  betters,  as  if  they 
were  only  fools  for  the  time.  Yet  because  you  are 
so  wayward  I  will  help  you  once  or  twice  more,  and 
then  I  will  leave  you  to  your  own  course — -which 
you,  in  your  blindness,  will  call  your  kismet,  not 
seeing  that  your  fate  is  continually  in  your  own 
hands  —  more  so  at  this  moment  than  ever  before. 
Ask,  and  I  will  answer.” 

“  Thanks,  Ram  Lai.  It  is  this  I  would  know. 
You  are  aware  that  I  have  undertaken  a  novel  kind  of 


MR.  ISAACS. 


123 


bargain.  The  man  yon  wot  of  is  to  be  delivered  to 
me  near  Keitung.  I  am  anxious  for  the  man’s  safety 
afterwards,  and  I  would  be  glad  of  some  hint  about 
disposing  of  him.  I  must  go  alone,  for  I  do  not 
want  any  witness  of  what  I  am  going  to  do,  and  as 
a  mere  matter  of  personal  safety  for  myself  and  the 
man  I  am  going  to  set  free,  I  must  decide  on  some 
plan  of  action  when  I  meet  the  band  of  sowars  who 
will  escort  him.  They  are  capable  of  murdering 
us  both  if  the  maharajah  instructs  them  to.  As  long 
as  I  am  alive  to  bring  the  old  man  into  disgrace 
with  the  British,  the  captive  is  safe;  but  it  would 
be  an  easy  matter  for  those  fellows  to  dispose  of  us 
together,  and  there  would  be  an  end  of  the  business.” 

“Of  course  they  could,”  replied  Ram  Lai,  adding 
in  an  ironical  tone  “and  if  you  insist  upon  putting 
your  head  down  the  tiger’s  throat,  how  do  you  expect 
me  to  prevent  the  brute  from  snapping  it  off  ?  That 
would  be  a  ‘phenomenon,’  would  it  not?  And  only 
this  evening  you  were  saying  that  you  despised 
‘phenomena.’  ” 

“  I  said  that  such  things  were  indifferent  to  me. 
I  did  not  say  I  despised  them.  But  I  think  that  this 
thing  may  be  done  without  performing  any  miracles.” 

“  If  it  were  not  such  a  good  action  on  your  part  I 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  But  since  you 
mean  to  risk  your  neck  for  your  own  peculiar  views 
of  what  is  right,  I  will  endeavour  that  you  shall  not 
break  it.  I  will  meet  you  a  day’s  journey  before  you 
reach  Keitung,  somewhere  on  the  road,  and  we  will 


124 


MR.  ISAACS. 


go  together  and  do  the  business.  But  if  I  am  to 
help  you  I  will  not  promise  not  to  perform  some 
miracles,  as  you  call  them,  though  you  know  very 
well  they  are  no  such  thing.  Meanwhile,  do  as  you 
please  about  the  tiger-liunt;  I  shall  say  no  more 
about  it.”  He  paused,  and  then,  withdrawing  one 
delicate  hand  from  the  folds  of  his  caftan,  he  pointed 
to  the  wall  behind  Isaacs  and  me,  and  said,  “  What 
a  very  singular  piece  of  workmanship  is  that  yata¬ 
ghan  !  ” 

We  both  naturally  turned  half  round  to  look  at 
the  weapon  he  spoke  of,  which  was  the  central  piece 
in  a  trophy  of  jewelled  sabres  and  Afghan  knives. 

“Yes,”  said  Isaacs,  turning  back  to  answer  his 

guest,  “it  is  a - •”  He  stopped,  and  I,  who  had 

not  seen  the  weapon  before,  lost  among  so  many,  and 
was  admiring  its  singular  beauty,  turned  too;  to 
my  astonishment  I  saw  that  Isaacs  Avas  gazing  into 
empty  space.  The  divan  Avliere  Ram  Lai  had  been 
sitting  an  instant  before,  Avas  vacant.  He  Avas  gone. 

“  That  is  rather  sudden,”  I  said. 

“More  so  than  usual,”  was  the  reply.  “Did  you 
see  him  go?  Did  he  go  out  by  the  door?” 

“Not  I,”  1  answered,  “when  I  looked  round  at  the 
Avail  he  Avas  placidly  sitting  on  that  divan  pointing 
Avitli  one  hand  at  the  yataghan.  Does  he  generally 
go  so  quickly?  ” 

“Yes,  more  or  less.  Noav  I  Avill  show  you  some 
pretty  sport.”  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  Avent  to  the 
door.  “Narain!”  he  cried.  Narain,  the  bearer, 


MR.  ISAACS. 


125 


who  was  squatting  against  the  door-post  outside, 
sprang  up  and  stood  before  his  master.  “Narain, 
why  did  you  not  show  that  pundit  the  way  down¬ 
stairs  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  have  you  no  manners  ?  ” 

Narain  stood  open  mouthed.  “  What  pundit, 
sahib?”  he  asked. 

“  Why,  the  pundit  who  came  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
ago,  you  donkey!  He  has  just  gone  out,  and  you  did 
not  even  get  up  and  make  a  salaam,  you  impertinent 
vagabond!  ”  Narain  protested  that  no  pundit,  or 
sahib,  or  any  one  else,  had  passed  the  threshold  since 
Ram  Lai  had  entered.  “Ha!  you  budmash.  You 
lazy  dog  of  a  Hindoo!  you  have  been  asleep  again, 
you  swine,  you  son  of  a  pig,  you  father  of  piglings ! 
Is  that  the  way  you  do  your  work  in  my  service?” 
Isaacs  was  enjoying  the  joke  in  a  quiet  way  im¬ 
mensely. 

“Sahib,”  said  the  trembling  Narain,  apparently 
forgetting  the  genealogy  his  master  had  thrust  upon 
him,  “  Sahib,  you  are  protector  of  the  poor,  you  are 
my  father  and  my  mother,  and  my  brother,  and  all 
my  relations,”  the  common  form  of  Hindoo  supplica¬ 
tion,  “  but,  Sri  Krishnaji !  by  the  blessed  Krishna,  I 
have  not  slept  a  wink.” 

“Then  I  suppose  you  mean  me  to  believe  that  the 
pundit  went  through  the  ceiling,  or  is  hidden  under 
the  cushions.  Swear  not  by  your  false  idols,  slave; 
I  shall  not  believe  you  for  that,  you  dog  of  an 
unbeliever,  you  soor-be-iman,  you  swine  without 
faith!  ” 


126 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“Han,  sail i l),  han !  ”  cried  Narain,  seizing  at  the 
idea  that  the  pundit  had  disappeared  mysteriously 
through  the  walls.  “  Yes,  sahib,  the  pundit  is  a 
great  yogi,  and  has  made  the  winds  carry  him  off.” 
The  fellow  thought  this  was  a  bright  idea,  not  by 
any  means  beneath  consideration.  Isaacs  appeared 
somewhat  pacified. 

“What  makes  you  think  lie  is  a  yogi,  dog?”  he 
inquired  in  a  milder  tone.  Narain  had  no  answer 
ready,  but  stood  looking  rather  stupidly  through  the 
door  at  the  room  whence  the  unearthly  visitor  liad  so 
suddenly  disappeared.  “Well,”  continued  Isaacs, 
“you  are  more  nearly  right  than  you  imagine.  The 
pundit  is  a  bigger  yogi  than  any  your  idiotic  religion 
can  produce.  Never  mind,  there  is  an  eight  anna 
bit  for  you,  because  I  said  you  were  asleep  when  you 
were  not.”  Narain  bent  to  the  ground  in  thanks,  as 
his  master  turned  on  his  heel.  “Not  that  he  minds 
being  told  that  he  is  a  pig,  in  the  least,”  said 
Isaacs.  “I  would  not  call  a  Mussulman  so,  but  you 
can  insult  these  Hindoos  so  much  worse  in  other 
ways  that  I  think  the  porcine  simile  is  quite  merci¬ 
ful  by  comparison.”  He  sat  down  again  among  the 
cushions,  and  putting  off  his  slippers,  curled  him¬ 
self  comfortably  together  for  a  chat. 

“What  do  you  think  of  Ram  Lai?”  he  asked, 
when  Narain  had  brought  hookahs  and  sherbet. 

“My  dear  fellow,  I  have  hardly  made  up  my  mind 
what  to  think.  I  have  not  altogether  recovered  from 
my  astonishment.  I  confess  that  there  was  nothing 


MR.  ISAACS. 


127 


startling  about  his  manner  or  his  person.  lie  be¬ 
haved  and  talked  like  a  well  educated  native,  in  utter 
contrast  to  the  amazing  things  he  said,  and  to  his 
unprecedented  mode  of  leave-taking.  It  would  have 
seemed  more  natural  —  I  would  say,  more  fitting — * 
if  he  had  appeared  in  the  classic  dress  of  an  astrolo¬ 
ger,  surrounded  with  zodiacs,  and  blue  lights,  and 
black  cats.  Why  do  you  suppose  he  wants  you  to 
abandon  the  tiger-hunt  ?  ” 

o 

“I  cannot  tell.  Perhaps  he  thinks  something  may 
happen  to  me  to  prevent  my  keeping  the  other 

engagement.  Perhaps  he  does  not  approve - ”  he 

stopped,  as  if  not  wanting  to  approach  the  subject  of 
Ram  Labs  disapprobation.  “I  intend,  nevertheless, 
that  the  expedition  come  off,  and  I  mean,  moreover, 
to  have  a  very  good  time,  and  to  kill  a  tiger  if  I  see 

_  55 

one. 


“I  thought  he  seemed  immensely  pleased  at  your 
conversion,  as  he  calls  it.  He  said  that  your  newly 
acquired  belief  in  woman  was  a  step  towards  a  better 
understanding  of  life.” 

O 


“Of  the  world,  he  said,”  answered  Isaacs,  correct¬ 
ing  me.  “There  is  a  great  difference  between  the 
Svorld’  and  ‘life.’  The  one  is  a  finite,  the  other  an 
infinite  expression.  I  believe,  from  what  1  have 
learned  of  Ram  Lai,  that  the  ultimate  object  of  the 
adepts  is  happiness,  only  to  be  attained  by  wisdom, 
and  I  apprehend  that  by  wisdom  they  mean  a  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  world  in  the  broadest  sense  of  the  word. 
The  world  to  them  is  a  great  repository  of  facts, 


128 


MR.  ISAACS. 


physical  and  social,  of  which  they  propose  to  acquire 
a  specific  knowledge  by  transcendental  methods.  If 
that  seems  to  you  a  contradiction  of  terms,  I  will  try 
and  express  myself  better.  If  you  understand  me,  I 
am  satisfied.  Of  course  I  use  transcendental  in  the 
sense  in  which  it  is  applied  by  Western  mathemati¬ 
cians  to  a  mode  of  reasoning  which  I  very  imper¬ 
fectly  comprehend,  save  that  it  consists  in  reaching 
finite  results  by  an  adroit  use  of  the  infinite.” 

“Not  a  bad  definition  of  transcendental  analysis 
for  a  man  who  professes  to  know  nothing  about  it,” 
said  I.  “  I  would  not  accuse  you  of  a  contradiction 
of  terms,  either.  I  have  often  thought  that  what 
some  people  call  the  ‘philosophy  of  the  nineteenth 
century,’  is  nothing  after  all  but  the  unconscious 
application  of  transcendental  analysis  to  the  everyday 
affairs  of  life.  Consider  the  theories  of  Darwin,  for 
instance.  What  are  they  but  an  elaborate  applica¬ 
tion  of  the  higher  calculus  ?  He  differentiates  men 
into  protoplasms,  and  integrates  protoplasms  into 
monkeys,  and  shows  the  caudal  appendage  to  be  the 
independent  variable,  a  small  factor  in  man,  a  large 
factor  in  monkey.  A nd  has  not  the  idea  of  successive 
development  supplanted  the  early  conception  of  spon¬ 
taneous  perfection?  Take  an  illustration  from  India 
—  the  new  system  of  competition,  which  the  natives 
can  never  understand.  Formerly  the  members  of 
the  Civil  Service  received  their  warrants  by  divine 
authority,  so  to  speak.  They  were  born  perfect,  as 
Aphrodite  from  the  foam  of  the  sea;  they  sprang 


MR.  ISAACS. 


129 


armed  and  ready  from  the  head  of  old  John  Com¬ 
pany  as  Pallas  Athene  from  the  head  of  Zeus.  Now 
all  that  is  changed ;  they  are  selected  from  a  great 
herd  of  candidates  by  methods  of  extreme  exactness, 
and  when  they  are  chosen  they  represent  the  final 
result  of  infinite  probabilities  for  and  against  their 
election.  They  are  all  exactly  alike;  they  are  a 
formula  for  taxation  and  the  administration  of  jus¬ 
tice,  and  so  long  as  you  do  not  attempt  to  use  the 
formula  for  any  other  purpose,  such,  for  instance, 
as  political  negotiation  or  the  censorship  of  the 
public  press,  the  equation  will  probably  be  amenable 
to  solution.” 

“As  T  told  you,”  said  Isaacs,  “I  know  nothing, 
or  next  to  nothing,  of  Western  mathematics,  but  I 
have  a  general  idea  of  the  comparison  you  make.  In 
Asia  and  in  Asiatic  minds,  there  prevails  an  idea 
that  knowledge  can  be  assimilated  once  and  for  all. 
That  if  you  can  obtain  it,  you  immediately  possess 
the  knowledge  of  everything  —  the  pass-key  that 
shall  unlock  every  door.  That  is  the  reason  of  the 
prolonged  fasting  and  solitary  meditation  of  the 
ascetics.  They  believe  that  by  attenuating  the  bond 
between  soul  and  body,  the  soul  can  be  liberated  and 
can  temporarily  identify  itself  with  other  objects, 
animate  and  inanimate,  besides  the  especial  body  to 
which  it  belongs,  acquiring  thus  a  direct  knowledge 
of  those  objects,  and  they  believe  that  this  direct 
knowledge  remains.  Western  philosophers  argue 
that  the  only  acquaintance  a  man  can  have  with 

K 


130 


MR.  ISAACS. 


bodies  external  to  Ids  mind  is  that  which  he  acquires 
by  the  medium  of  his  bodily  senses  —  though  these 
are  themselves  external  to  his  mind,  in  the  truest 
sense.  The  senses  not  being  absolutely  reliable, 
knowledge  acquired  by  means  of  them  is  not  abso¬ 
lutely  reliable  either.  So  the  ultimate  difference 
between  the  Asiatic  saint  and  the  European  man  of 
science  is,  that  while  the  former  believes  all  knowl¬ 
edge  to  be  directly  within  the  grasp  of  the  soul, 
under  certain  conditions,  the  latter,  on  the  other 
hand,  denies  that  any  knowledge  can  be  absolute, 
being  all  obtained  indirectly  through  a  medium  not 
absolutely  reliable.  The  reasoning,  by  which  the 
Western  mind  allows  itself  to  act  fearlessly  on  infor¬ 
mation  which  is  not  (according  to  its  own  verdict) 
necessarily  accurate,  depends  on  a  clever  use  of  the 
infinite  in  unconsciously  calculating  the  probabilities 
of  that  accuracy —  and  this  entirely  falls  in  with 
what  you  said  about  the  application  of  transcendental 
analysis  to  the  affairs  of  everyday  life.” 

“I  see  you  have  entirely  comprehended  me,”  \  said. 
“  But  as  for  the  Asiatic  mind  —  you  seem  to  deny  to 
it  the  use  of  the  calculus  of  thought,  and  yet  you 
defined  adepts  as  attempting  to  acquire  specific 
knowledge  by  general  and  transcendental  methods. 
Here  is  a  real  contradiction.” 

“No;  I  see  no  confusion,  for  T  do  not  include  the 
higher  adepts  in  either  class,  since  they  have  the 
wisdom  to  make  use  of  the  learning  and  of  the 
methods  of  both.  They  seem  to  me  to  be  endeavour- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


131 


ing,  roughly  speaking,  to  combine  the  two.  They 
believe  absolute  knowledge  attainable,  and  they 
devote  much  time  to  the  study  of  nature,  in  which 
pursuit  they  make  use  of  highly  analytical  methods. 
They  subdivide  phenomena  to  an  extent  that  would 
surprise  and  probably  amuse  a  Western  thinker. 
They  count  fourteen  distinct  colours  in  the  rain¬ 
bow,  and  invariably  connect  sound,  even  to  the  finest 
degrees,  with  shades  of  colour.  I  could  name  many 
other  peculiarities  of  their  mode  of  studying  natural 
phenomena,  which  displays  a  much  more  minute  sub¬ 
division  and  classification  of  results  than  you  are 
accustomed  to.  But  beside  all  this  they  consider 
that  the  senses  of  the  normal  man  are  susceptible  of 
infinite  refinement,  and  that  upon  a  greater  or  less 
degree  of  acquired  acuteness  of  perception  the  value 
of  his  results  must  depend.  To  attain  this  high 
degree  of  sensitiveness,  necessary  to  the  perception 
of  very  subtle  phenomena,  the  adepts  find  it  necessary 
to  train  their  faculties,  bodily  and  mental,  by  a  life 
of  rigid  abstention  from  all  pleasures  or  indulgences 
not  indispensable  in  maintaining  the  relation  be¬ 
tween  the  physical  and  intellectual  powers.” 

“The  common  fakir  aims  at  the  same  thing,”  I 
remarked. 

“But  he  does  not  attain  it.  The  common  fakir  is 
an  idiot.  He  may,  by  fasting  and  self-torture,  of  a 
kind  no  adept  would  approve,  sharpen  his  senses  till 
he  can  hear  and  see  some  sounds  and  sights  inaudible 
and  invisible  to  you  and  me.  But  his  whole  system 


132 


MR.  ISAACS. 


lacks  any  intellectual  basis:  lie  regards  knowledge 
as  something  instantaneously  attainable  when  it 
comes  at  last;  he  believes  he  will  have  a  vision,  and 
that  everything  will  be  revealed  to  him.  His  devo¬ 
tion  to  his  obiect  is  admirable,  when  he  is  a  genuine 
ascetic  and  not,  as  is  generally  the  case,  a  good-for- 
nothing  who  makes  his  piety  pay  for  his  subsistence; 
but  it  is  devotion  of  a  very  low  intellectual  order. 
The  true  adept  thinks  the  training  of  the  mind  in 
intellectual  pursuits  no  less  necessary  than  the  mod¬ 
erate  and  reasonable  mortification  of  the  flesh,  and 
higher  Buddhism  pays  as  much  attention  to  the  one 
as  to  the  other.” 

“Excuse  me,”  said  I,  “if  I  make  a  digression.  I 
think  there  are  two  classes  of  minds  commonly  to  be 
found  among  thinkers  all  over  the  world.  The  one 
seek  to  attain  to  knowledge,  the  others  strive  to 
acquire  it.  There  is  a  class  of  commonplace  intellects 
who  regard  knowledge  of  all  kinds  in  the  light  of  a 
ladder,  one  ladder  for  each  science,  and  the  rungs  of 
the  ladders  are  the  successive  facts  mastered  by  an 
effort  and  remembered  in  the  order  they  have  been 
passed.  These  persons  think  it  is  possible  to  attain  to 
high  eminence  on  one  particular  ladder,  that  is,  in 
one  particular  science,  without  having  been  up  any 
of  the  other  ladders,  that  is,  without  a  knowledge  of 
other  branches  of  science.  This  is  the  mind  of  the 
plodder,  the  patient  man  who  climbs,  step  by  step, 
in  his  own  unvarying  round  of  thought;  not  seeing 
that  it  is  but  the  wheel  of  a  treadmill  over  which  he 


MR.  ISAACS. 


133 


is  labouring,  and  tliat  though  every  step  may  pass, 
and  repass,  beneath  his  toiling  feet,  lie  can  never 
obtain  a  birdseye  view  of  what  he  is  doing,  because 
his  eyes  are  continually  fixed  on  the  step  in  front.” 

“But,”  I  continued,  as  Isaacs  assented  to  my 
simile  by  a  nod,  “  there  is  another  class  of  minds  also. 
There  are  persons  who  regard  the  whole  imaginable 
and  unimaginable  knowledge  of  mankind,  past,  pres- 
sent,  and  future,  as  a  boundless  plain  over  which 
they  hang  suspended  and  can  look  down.  Immedi¬ 
ately  beneath  them  there  is  a  map  spread  out  which 
represents,  in  the  midst  of  the  immense  desert,  the 
things  they  themselves  know.  It  is  a  puzzle  map, 
like  those  they  make  for  children,  where  each  piece 
fits  into  its  appointed  place,  and  will  fit  nowhere 
else;  every  piece  of  knowledge  acquired  fits  into  the 
space  allotted  to  it,  and  when  there  is  a  piece,  that 
is,  a  fact,  wanting,  it  is  still  possible  to  define  its 
extent  and  shape  by  the  surrounding  portions,  though 
all  the  details  of  colour  and  design  are  lacking. 
These  are  the  people  who  regard  knowledge  as  a 
whole,  harmonious,  when  every  science  and  fragment 
of  a  science  has  its  appointed  station  and  is  necessary 
to  completeness  of  perfect  knowledge.  I  hope  I  have 
made  clear  to  you  what  I  mean,  though  I  am  conscious 
of  only  sketching  the  outlines  of  a  distinction  which 
I  believe  to  be  fundamental." 

“  Of  course  it  is  fundamental.  Broadly,  it  is  the 
difference  between  analytic  and  synthetic  thought; 
between  the  subjective  and  the  objective  views; 


134 


MR.  ISAACS. 


between  the  finite  conception  of  a  limited  world  and 
the  infinite  ideal  of  perfect  wisdom.  I  understand 
you  perfectly.” 

“You  puzzle  me  continually,  Isaacs.  Where  did 
you  learn  to  talk  about  ‘analytic’  and  ‘synthetic/ 
and ‘subjective’ and  ‘objective,’  and  transcendental 
analysis,  and  so  forth?”  It  seemed  so  consistent 
with  his  mind  that  he  should  understand  the  use  of 
philosophical  terms,  that  I  had  not  realised  how  odd 
it  was  that  a  man  of  his  purely  Oriental  education 
should  know  anything  about  the  subject.  His  very 
broad  application  of  the  words  ‘analytic’  and  ‘syn¬ 
thetic’  to  my  pair  of  illustrations  attracted  my  atten¬ 
tion  and  prompted  the  question  I  had  asked. 

“I  read  a  good  deal,”  he  said  simply.  Then  he 
added  in  a  reflective  tone,  “  I  rather  think  I  have  a 
philosophical  mind.  The  old  man  who  taught  me 
theology  in  Istamboul  when  I  was  a  boy  used  to  talk 
philosophy  to  me  by  the  hour,  though  I  do  not  believe 
he  knew  much  about  it.  He  was  a  plodder,  and 
went  up  ladders  in  search  of  information,  like  the 
man  you  describe.  But  he  was  very  patient  and  good 
to  me;  the  peace  of  Allah  be  with  him.” 

It  was  late,  and  soon  afterwards  we  parted  for  the 
night.  The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  I  had  a  heap 
of  unanswered  letters  to  attend  to,  so  we  agreed  to 
meet  after  tiffin  and  ride  together  before  dining  with 
Mr.  Ghyrkins  and  the  Westonhaughs. 

I  went  to  my  room  and  sat  a  while  over  a  volume 
of  Kant,  which  I  always  travel  with  —  a  sort  of  phi- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


135 


losopher’s  stone  on  which  to  whet  the  mind’s  tools 
when  they  are  chilled  with  boring  into  the  geological 
strata  of  other  people’s  ideas.  I  was  too  much  occu¬ 
pied  with  the  personality  of  the  man  T  had  been  talk¬ 
ing  with  to  read  long,  and  so  I  abandoned  myself 
to  a  reverie,  passing  in  review  the  events  of  the  long 
day. 


136 


MR.  ISAACS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Sabbatarian  tendency  of  the  English  mind  at 
home  and  abroad  is  proverbial,  and  if  they  are  well- 
behaved  on  Sunday  in  London  they  are  models  of 
virtue  in  Simla  on  the  same  day.  Whether  they 
labour  and  are  well-fed  and  gouty  in  their  island 
home,  or  suffer  themselves  to  be  boiled  for  gain  in  the 
tropical  kettles  of  Ceylon  and  Singapore;  whether 
they  risk  their  lives  in  hunting  for  the  north  pole  or 
the  northwest  passage,  or  endanger  their  safety  in  the 
pursuit  of  tigers  in  the  Terai,  they  will  have  their 
Sunday,  come  rain,  come  shine.  On  the  deck  of  the 
steamer  in  the  Red  Sea,  in  the  cabin  of  the  inbound 
Arctic  explorer,  in  the  crowded  Swiss  hotel,  or  the 
straggling  Indian  hill  station,  there  is  always  a  par¬ 
son  of  some  description,  in  a  surplice  of  no  descrip¬ 
tion  at  all,  who  produces  a  Bible  and  a  couple  of 
well-thumbed  sermons  from  the  recesses  of  his  trunk 
or  his  lunch  basket,  or  his  gun-case,  and  goes  at  the 
work  of  weekly  redemption  with  a  will.  And,  what 
is  more,  he  is  listened  to,  and  for  the  time  being  — 
though  on  week  days  he  is  styled  a  bore  by  the  old 
and  a  prig  by  the  young  —  he  becomes  temporarily 
invested  with  a  dignity  not  his  own,  with  an  authority 


MR.  ISAACS. 


137 


he  could  not  claim  on  any  other  day.  It  is  the  dig¬ 
nity  of  a  people  who  with  all  their  faults  have  the 
courage  of  their  opinions,  and  it  is  the  authority  that 
they  have  been  taught  from  their  childhood  to  rever- 
ence,  whenever  their  traditions  give  it  the  right  to 
assert  itself.  Not  otherwise.  It  is  a  fine  trait  of 
national  character,  though  it  is  one  which  has  brought 
upon  the  English  much  unmerited  ridicule.  One 
may  differ  from  them  in  faith  and  in  one’s  estimate 
of  the  real  value  of  these  services,  which  are  often 
only  saved  from  being  irreverent  in  their  perform¬ 
ance  by  the  perfect  sincerity  of  parson  and  congrega¬ 
tion.  But  no  one  who  dispassionately  judges  them 
can  deny  that  the  custom  inspires  respect  for  English 
consistency  and  admiration  for  their  supreme  con¬ 
tempt  of  surroundings. 

I  presume  that  the  periodical  manifestations  of 
religious  belief  to  which  I  refer  are  intimately  and 
indissolubly  connected  with  the  staid  and  funereal 
solemnity  which  marks  an  Englishman’s  dress,  con¬ 
versation,  and  conduct  on  Sunday.  He  is  a  differ¬ 
ent  being  for  the  nonce,  and  must  sustain  the  entire 
character  of  his  dual  existence,  or  it  will  fall  to  the 
ground  and  forsake  him  altogether.  He  cannot  take 
his  religion  in  the  morning  and  enjoy  himself  the 
rest  of  the  day.  He  must  abstain  from  everything 
that  could  remind  him  that  he  has  a  mind  at  all, 
besides  a  soul.  No  amusement  will  he  tolerate,  no 
reading  of  even  the  most  harmless  fiction  can  he 
suffer,  while  he  is  in  the  weekly  devotional  trance. 


138 


MR.  ISAACS. 


I  cannot  explain  these  things;  they  are  race  ques¬ 
tions,  problems  for  the-  ethnologist.  Certain  it  is, 
however,  that  the  partial  decay  of  strict  Sabbatari¬ 
anism  which  seems  to  have  set  in  during  the  last 
quarter  of  a  century  has  not  been  attended  by  any 
notable  development  of  power  in  English  thought  of 
that  class.  The  first  Republic  tried  the  experiment 
of  the  decimal  week,  and  it  was  a  failure.  The 
English  who  attempt  to  put  off  even  a  little  of  the 
quaint  armour  of  righteousness,  which  they  have 
been  accustomed  to  buckle  on  every  seventh  day  for 
so  many  generations,  are  not  so  successful  in  the 
attempt  as  to  attract  many  to  follow  them.  They 
are  not  graceful  in  their  holiday  gambols. 

Meditating  somewhat  on  this  wise  I  lay  in  my  long 
chair  by  the  open  door  that  Sunday  morning  in  Sep¬ 
tember.  It  was  a  little  warmer  again  and  the  sun 
shone  pleasantly  across  the  lawn  on  the  great  branches 
and  bright  leaves  of  the  rhododendron.  The  house 
was  very  quiet.  All  the  inmates  were  gone  to  the 
church  on  the  mall,  and  the  servants  were  basking  in 
the  last  few  days  of  warmth  they  would  enjoy  before 
their  masters  returned  to  the  plains.  The  Hindoo 
servant  hates  the  cold.  He  fears  it  as  he  fears  co¬ 
bras,  fever,  and  freemasons.  His  ideal  life  is  noth¬ 
ing  to  do,  nothing  to  wear,  and  plenty  to  eat,  with  the 
thermometer  at  135  degrees  in  the  verandah  and  110 
inside.  Then  he  is  happy.  His  body  swells  with 
much  good  rice  and  dal ,  and  his  heart  with  pride ; 
he  will  wear  as  little  as  you  will  let  him,  and 


MR.  ISAACS. 


139 


whether  yon  will  let  him  or  not,  he  will  do  less  work 
in  a  given  time  than  any  living  description  of  ser¬ 
vant.  So  they  basked  in  rows  in  the  sunshine,  and 
did  not  even  quarrel  or  tell  yarns  among  themselves ; 
it  was  quiet  and  warm  and  sleepy.  I  dozed  lazily, 
dropped  my  book  in  my  lap,  struggled  once,  and  then 
fairly  fell  asleep. 

I  was  roused  by  Kiramat  Ali  pulling  at  my  foot, 
as  natives  will  when  they  are  afraid  of  the  conse¬ 
quences  of  waking  their  master.  When  I  opened  my 
eyes  he  presented  a  card  on  a  salver,  and  explained 
that  the  gentleman  wanted  to  see  me.  I  looked,  and 
was  rather  surprised  to  see  it  was  Kildare’s  card. 
“  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare,  33d  Lancers  ”  — there  was 
no  word  in  pencil,  or  any  message.  I  told  Kiramat 
to  show  the  sahib  in,  wondering  why  he  should  call 
on  me.  By  Indian  etiquette,  if  there  was  to  be  any 
calling,  it  was  my  duty  to  make  the  first  visit. 
Before  I  had  time  to  think  more  I  heard  the  clank¬ 
ing  of  spurs  and  sabre  on  the  verandah,  and  the 
young  man  walked  in,  clad  in  the  full  uniform  of 
his  regiment.  I  rose  to  greet  him,  and  was  struck  by 
his  soldierly  bearing  and  straight  figure,  as  I  had 
been  at  our  first  meeting,  lie  took  off  his  bearskin 
—  for  he  was  in  the  fullest  of  full  dress  —  and  sat 
down. 

“I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  at  home,”  he  said:  “I 
feared  you  might  have  gone  to  church,  like  every¬ 
body  else. in  this  place.” 

“No.  I  went  early  this  morning.  I  belong  to  a 


140 


MR.  ISAACS. 


different  persuasion.  I  suppose  you  are  on  your 
way  to  Peterhof?” 

“Yes.  There  is  some  sort  of  official  reception  to 
somebody,  —  I  forget  who,  —  and  we  had  notice  to 
turn  out.  It  is  a  detestable  nuisance.” 

“1  should  think  so.” 

“  Mr.  Griggs,  I  came  to  ask  you  about  something. 
You  heard  of  my  proposal  to  get  up  a  tiger-hunt? 
Mr.  Ghyrkins  was  speaking  of  it.” 

“  Yes.  He  wanted  us- to  go, —  Mr.  Isaacs  and  me, 
—  and  suggested  leaving  his  niece,  Miss  Weston- 
haugh,  with  Lady  Smith-Tompkins.” 

“It  would  be  so  dull  without  a  lady  in  the  party. 
Nothing1  but  tigers  and  shikarries  and  other  native 

o  o 

abominations  to  talk  to.  Do  you  not  think  so?” 

“Why,  yes.  I  told  Mr.  Ghyrkins  that  all  the 
little  Smith-Tompkins  children  had  the  measles,  and 
the  house  was  not  safe.  If  they  have  not  had  them, 
they  will,  I  have  no  doubt.  Heaven  is  just,  and 
will  not  leave  you  to  the  conversational  mercies  of 
the  entertaining  tiger  and  the  engaging  shikarry.” 

“By  Jove,  Mr.  Griggs,  that  was  a  brilliant  idea; 
and,  as  you  say,  they  may  all  get  the  measles  yet. 
The  fact  is,  I  have  set  my  heart  on  this  thing.  Miss 
Westonhaugh  said  she  had  never  seen  a  tiger,  except 
in  cages  and  that  kind  of  thing,  and  so  I  made  up 
my  mind  she  should.  Besides,  it  will  be  no  end  of 
a  lark;  just  when  nobody  is  thinking  about  tigers, 
you  go  off  and  kill  a  tremendous  fellow,  fifteen  or 
sixteen  feet  long,  and  come  back  covered  with  glory 


MR.  ISAACS. 


141 


and  mosquito  bites,  and  tell  everybody  that  Miss 
Westonhaugh  shot  him  herself  with  a  pocket  pistol. 
That  will  be  glorious!  ” 

“I  should  like  it  very  much  too;  and  I  really  see 
no  reason  why  it  should  not  be  done.  Mr.  Ghyrkins 
seemed  in  a  very  cheerful  humour  about  tigers  last 
night,  and  I  have  no  doubt  a  little  persuasion  from 
you  will  bring  him  to  a  proper  view  of  his  obliga¬ 
tions  to  Miss  Westonhaugh.”  He  looked  pleased 
and  bright  and  hopeful,  thoroughly  enthusiastic,  as 
became  his  Irish  blood.  He  evidently  intended  to 
have  quite  as  “good”  a  “time”  as  Isaacs  proposed  to 
enjoy.  I  thought  the  spectacle  of  those  rivals  for 
the  beautiful  girl’s  favour  would  be  extremely  inter¬ 
esting.  Lord  Steepleton  was  doubtless  a  good  shot 
and  a  brave  man,  and  would  risk  anything  to  secure 
Miss  Westonhaugh \s  approval;  Isaacs,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  the  sort  of  man  who  is  very  much  the 
same  in  danger  as  anywhere  else. 

“That  is  what  I  came  to  ask  you  about.  We  shall 
all  meet  there  at  dinner  this  evening,  and  I  wanted 
to  secure  as  many  allies  as  possible.” 

“  You  may  count  on  me,  Lord  Steepleton,  at  all 
events.  There  is  nothing  I  should  enjoy  better  than 
such  a  fortnight’s  holiday,  in  such  good  company.” 

“All  right,” said  Lord  Steepleton,  rising,  “I  must 
be  off  now  to  Peterhof.  It  is  an  organised  movement 
on  Mr.  Ghyrkins  this  evening,  then.  Is  it  under¬ 
stood?”  He  took  his  bearskin  from  the  table,  and 
prepared  to  go,  pulling  his  straps  and  belts  into 
place,  and  dusting  a  particle  of  ash  from  his  sleeve. 


142 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“Perfectly,”  1  answered.  “We  will  drag  him 
forth  into  the  arena  before  three  days  are  past.”  We 
shook  hands,  and  he  went  out. 

I  was  glad  he  had  come,  though  I  had  been  waked 
from  a  pleasant  nap  to  receive  him.  Pie  was  so  per¬ 
fectly  gay,  and  natural,  and  healthy,  that  one  could 
not  help  liking  him.  You  felt  at  once  that  he  was 
honest  and  would  do  the  right  thing  in  spite  of  any 
one,  according  to  his  light;  that  lie  would  stand  by 
a  friend  in  danger,  and  face  any  odds  in  tight,  with 
as  much  honest  determination  to  play  fair  and  win, 
as  he  would  bring  to  a  cricket  match  or  a  steeple¬ 
chase.  H  is  Irish  blood  gave  him  a  somewhat  less 
formal  manner  than  belongs  to  the  Englishman ; 
more  enthusiasm  and  less  regard  for  “form,”  while 
his  good  heart  and  natural  courtesy  would  lead  him 
right  in  the  long-run.  Pie  seemed  all  sunshine, 
with  his  bright  blue  eyes  and  great  fair  moustache 
and  brown  face ;  the  closely  fitting  uniform  showed 
off  his  erect  figure  and  elastic  gait,  and  the  whole 
impression  was  fresh  and  exhilarating  in  the  extreme. 
I  was  sorry  he  had  gone.  I  would  have  liked  to  talk 
with  him  about  boating  and  fishing  and  shooting; 
about  athletics  and  horses  and  tandem-driving,  and 
many  things  I  used  to  like  years  ago  at  college, 
before  I  began  my  wandering  life.  I  watched  him  as 
he  swung  himself  into  the  military  saddle,  and  he 
threw  up  liis  hand  in  a  parting  salute  as  he  rode 
aAvay.  Poor  fellow !  was  he,  too,  going  to  be  food 
for  powder  and  Afghan  knives  in  the  avenging  army 


MR.  ISAACS. 


143 


on  its  way  to  Kabul  ?  I  went  back  to  my  books  and 
remained  reading  until  the  afternoon  sun  slanted  in 
through  the  open  door,  and  falling  across  my  book 
warned  me  it  was  time  to  keep  my  appointment  with 
Isaacs. 

As  we  passed  the  church  the  people  were  coming 
out  from  the  evening  service,  and  I  saw  Kildare, 
once  more  in  the  garb  of  a  civilian,  standing  near 
the  door,  apparently  watching  for  some  one  to 
appear.  I  knew  that,  with  his  strict  observance  of 
Catholic  rules  —  often  depending  more  on  pride  of 
family  than  on  religious  conviction,  in  the  house  of 
Kildare  —  he  would  not  have  entered  the  English 
Church,  at  such  a  time,  and  I  was  sure  he  was  lying 
in  wait  for  Miss  Westonhaugh,  probably  intending 
to  surprise  her  and  join  her  on  her  homeward  ride. 
The  road  winds  down  below  the  Church,  so  that  for 
some  minutes  after  passing  the  building  you  may  get 
a  glimpse  of  the  mall  above  and  of  the  people  upon 
it  —  or  at  least  of  their  heads  — *  if  they  are  moving 
near  the  edge  of  the  path.  I  was  unaccountably 
curious  this  evening,  and  I  dropped  a  little  behind 
Isaacs,  craning  my  neck  and  turning  back  in  the 
saddle  as  I  watched  the  stream  of  heads  and  shoulders, 
strongly  foreshortened  against  the  blue  sky  above, 
moving  ceaselessly  along  the  parapet  over  my  head. 
Before  long  I  was  rewarded;  Miss  Westonhaugh’s 
fair  hair  and  broad  hat  entered  the  field  of  my  vision, 
and  a  moment  later  Lord  Steepleton,  who  must  have 
pushed  through  the  crowd  from  the  other  side, 


144 


MR.  ISAACS. 


appeared  struggling  after  her.  She  turned  quickly, 
and  I  saw  no  more,  but  I  did  not  think  she  had 
changed  colour. 

I  began  to  be  deeply  interested  in  ascertaining 
whether  she  had  any  preference  for  one  or  the  other 
of  the  two  young  men.  Kildare’s  visit  in  the  morn¬ 
ing —  though  he  had  said  very  little  —  had  given  me 
a  new  impression  of  the  man,  and  I  felt  that  he  was 
no  contemptible  rival.  I  saw  from  the  little  inci¬ 
dent  I  had  just  witnessed  that  lie  neglected  no  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  being  with  Miss  Westonhaugh,  and  that  he 
had  the  patience  to  wait  and  the  boldness  to  find  her 
in  a  crowd.  I  had  seen  very  little  of  her  myself; 
but  I  had  been  amply  satisfied  that  Isaacs  was  capa¬ 
ble  of  interesting  her  in  a  tete-a-tete  conversation. 
“  The  talker  has  the  best  chance,  if  lie  is  bold  enough,” 
I  said  to  myself;  but  I  was  not  satisfied,  and  I 
resolved  that  if  I  could  manage  it  Isaacs  should  have 
another  chance  that  very  evening  after  the  dinner. 
Meanwhile  I  would  involve  Isaacs  in  a  conversation 
on  some  one  of  those  subjects  that  seemed  to  interest 
him  most.  He  had  not  seen  the  couple  on  the  mall, 
and  was  carelessly  ambling  along  with  his  head  in 
the  air  and  one  hand  in  the  pocket  of  his  short  coat, 
the  picture  of  unconcern. 

I  was  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  whether  I  would 
open  fire  upon  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  matri¬ 
mony,  or  the  differential  calculus,  when,  as  we 
passed  from  the  narrow  street  into  the  road  leading 
round  Jako,  Isaacs  spoke. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


145 


“Look  here,  Griggs,”  said  he,  “there  is  something 
I  want  to  impress  upon  your  mind.” 

“Well,  what  is  it?” 

“  It  is  all  very  well  for  Ram  Lai  to  give  advice 
about  things  he  understands.  I  have  a  very  sincere 
regard  for  him,  hut  1  do  not  believe  he  was  ever  in 
my  position.  I  have  set  my  heart  on  this  tiger-hunt. 
Miss  Westonhaugli  said  the  other  day  that  she  had 
never  seen  a  tiger,  and  I  then  and  there  made  up  my 
mind  that  she  should.” 

I  laughed.  There  seemed  to  he  no  essential  differ¬ 
ence  of  opinion  between  the  Irishman  and  the  Per¬ 
sian  in  regard  to  the  pleasures  of  the  chase.  Miss 
Westonhaugli  was  evidently  anxious  to  see  tigers, 
and  meant  to  do  it,  since  she  had  expressed  her  wish 
to  the  two  men  most  likely  to  procure  her  that  inno¬ 
cent  recreation.  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare  b}r  his 
position,  and  Isaacs  by  his  wealth,  could,  if  they 
chose,  get  up  such  a  tiger-liunt  for  her  benefit  as  had 
never  been  seen.  I  thought  she  might  have  waited 
till  the  spring  —  but  I  had  learned  that  she  in¬ 
tended  to  return  to  England  in  April,  and  was  to 
spend  the  early  months  of  the  year  with  her  brother 
in  Bombay. 

“You  want  to  see  Miss  Westonhaugli,  and  Miss 
Westonhaugli  wants  to  see  tigers!  My  dear  fellow, 
go  in  and  win;  I  will  back  you/' 

“Why  do  you  laugh,  Griggs?”  asked  Isaacs,  who 
saw  nothing  particularly  amusing  in  what  he  had  said. 

“  Oh,  I  laughed  because  another  young  gentleman 


146 


MR.  ISAACS. 


expressed  tlie  same  opinions  to  me,  in  identically  the 
same  words,  this  morning.” 

“  Mr.  W  estonhaugh  ?  ” 

“  No.  You  know  very  well  that  Mr.  Westonhaugh 
cares  nothing  about  it,  one  way  or  the  other.  The 
little  plan  for  ‘amusing  brother  John  ’  is  a  hoax. 
The  thing  cannot  be  done.  You  might  as  well  try 
to  amuse  an  undertaker  as  to  make  a  man  from  Bom¬ 
bay  laugh.  The  hollowness  of  life  is  ever  upon 
them.  No.  It  was  Kildare;  he  called  and  said  that 
M  iss  W estonhaugh  had  never  seen  a  tiger,  and  he 
seemed  anxious  to  impress  upon  me  his  determina¬ 
tion  that  she  should.  Pshaw!  what  does  Kildare 
care  about  brother  John?” 

“Brother  John,  as  you  call  him,  is  a  better  fellow 
than  he  looks.  I  owe  a  great  deal  to  brother  John.” 
Isaacs’  olive  skin  flushed  a  little,  and  he  emphasised 
the  epithet  by  which  I  had  designated  Mr.  John 
Westonhaugh  as  if  he  were  offended  by  it. 

“I  mean  nothing  against  Mr.  Westonhaugh,”  said 
I  half  apologetically.  “  I  remember  when  you  met 
yesterday  afternoon  you  said  you  had  seen  him  in 
Bombay  a  long  time  ago.” 

“Do  you  remember  the  story  I  told  you  of  myself 
the  other  night?” 

“  Perfectly.” 

“Westonhaugh  was  the  young  civil  servant  who 
paid  my  fine  and  gave  me  a  rupee,  when  I  was  a 
ragged  sailor  from  a  Mocha  craft,  and  could  not 
speak  a  word  of  English.  To  that  rupee  I  ultimately 


MR.  ISAACS. 


147 


owe  my  entire  fortune.  I  never  forget  a  face,  and 
I  am  sure  it  is  lie  —  do  you  understand  me  now  ?  I 
owe  to  his  kindness  everything  I  possess  in  the 
world.” 

“  The  unpardonable  sin  is  ingratitude,”  I  answered, 
“of  which  you  will  certainly  not  be  accused.  That 
is  a  very  curious  coincidence.” 

“  I  think  it  is  something  more.  A  man  has  always 
at  least  one  opportunity  of  repaying  a  debt,  and, 
besm  Illah!  I  will  repay  what  I  can  of  it.  By  the 
beard  of  the  apostle,  whose  name  is  blessed,  I  am 
not  ungrateful !  ”  Isaacs  was  excited  as  he  said  this. 
He  was  no  longer  the  calm  Mr.  Isaacs;  he  was  Abdul 
Hafiz  the  Persian,  fiery  and  enthusiastic. 

“  You  say  well,  my  friend,”  he  continued  earnestly, 
“  that  the  unpardonable  sin  is  ingratitude.  Doubt¬ 
less,  had  the  blessed  prophet  of  Allah  lived  in  our 
day,  he  would  have  spoken  of  the  doom  that  hangs 
over  the  ungrateful.  It  is  the  curse  of  this  age;  for 
he  who  forgets  or  refuses  to  remember  the  kindness 


done  to  him  by  others  sets  himself  apart,  and  wor¬ 
ships  his  miserable  self;  and  he  makes  an  idol  of 
himself,  saying,  H  am  of  more  importance  than  my 
fellows  in  the  world,  and  it  is  meet  and  right  that 
they  should  give  and  that  I  should  receive.’  Ingrat¬ 
itude  is  selfishness,  and  selfishness  is  the  worship  of 
oneself,  the  setting  of  oneself  higher  than  man  and 
goodness  and  God.  And  when  man  perishes  and  the 
angel  A1  Sijil,  the  recorder,  rolls  up  his  scroll,  what 
is  written  therein  is  written;  and  Israfil  shall  call 


148 


MR.  ISAACS. 


men  to  judgment,  and  tlie  scrolls  shall  be  unfolded, 
and  lie  that  has  taken  of  others  and  not  given  in 
return,  but  has  ungratefully  forgotten  and  put  away 
the  remembrance  of  the  kindness  received,  shall  be 
counted  among  the  unbelievers  and  the  extortioners 
and  the  unjust,  and  shall  broil  in  raging  flames. 
By  the  hairs  of  the  prophet’s  beard,  whose  name  is 
blessed.” 

1  had  not  seen  Isaacs  so  thoroughly  roused  before 
upon  any  subject.  The  flush  had  left  his  face  and 
given  place  to  a  perfect  paleness,  and  his  eyes  shone 
like  coals  of  fire  as  he  looked  upward  in  pronouncing 
the  last  words.  I  said  to  myself  that  there  was  a 
strong  element  of  religious  exaltation  in  all  Asiatics, 
and  put  his  excitement  down  to  this  cause.  His 
religion  was  a  very  beautiful  and  real  thing  to  him, 
ever  present  in  his  life,  and  I  mused  on  the  future  of 
the  man,  with  his  great  endowments,  his  exquisite 
sensitiveness,  and  his  high  view  of  his  obligations  to 
his  fellows.  I  am  not  a  worshipper  of  heroes,  but 
I  felt  that,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  was  inti¬ 
mate  with  a  man  who  was  ready  to  stand  in  the 
breach  and  to  die  for  what  he  thought  and  believed 
to  be  right.  After  a  pause  of  some  minutes,  during 
which  we  had  ridden  beyond  the  last  straggling 
bungalows  of  the  town,  he  spoke  again,  quietly,  his 
temporary  excitement  having  subsided. 

“I  feel  very  strongly  about  these  things,”  he  said, 
and  then  stopped  short. 

“I  can  see  you  do,  and  I  honour  you  for  it.  I 


MR.  ISAACS. 


149 


think  you  are  the  first  grateful  person  I  have  ever 
met;  a  rare  and  unique  bird  in  the  earth.” 

“Do  not  say  that.” 

“  I  do  say  it.  There  is  very  little  of  the  philosophy 
of  the  nineteenth  century  about  you,  Isaacs.  Your 
belief  in  the  obligations  of  gratitude  and  in  the  gen¬ 
eral  capacity  of  the  human  race  for  redemption, 
savours  little  of  ‘transcendental  analysis.’  ” 

“You  have  too  much  of  it,”  he  answered  seriously. 
“I  do  not  think  you  see  how  much  your  cynicism 
involves.  You  would  very  likely,  if  you  are  the 
man  I  take  you  for,  be  very  much  offended  if  I 
accused  you  of  not  believing  any  particular  dogma 
of  your  religion.  And  yet,  with  all  your  faith,  you 
do  not  believe  in  God.” 

“1  cannot  see  how  you  get  at  that  conclusion,”  I 
replied.  “I  must  deny  your  hypothesis,  at  the  risk 
of  engaging  you  in  an  argument.”  1  could  not  see 
what  he  was  driving  at. 

“  How  can  3rou  believe  in  God,  and  yet  condemn 
the  noblest  of  His  works  as  altogether  bad?  You  are 
not  consistent.” 

“What  makes  you  think  I  am  so  cynical?”  I 
inquired,  harking  back  to  gain  time. 

“  A  little  cloud,  a  little  sultriness  in  the  air,  is  all 
that  betrays  the  coming  khemsin ,  that  by  and  by  shall 
overwhelm  and  destroy  man  and  beast  in  its  sandy 
darkness.  You  have  made  one  or  two  remarks  lately 
that  show  little  faith  in  human  nature,  and  if  you  do 
not  believe  in  human  nature  what  is  there  left  for 


MR.  ISAACS. 


150 

you  to  believe  in?  You  said  a  moment  ago  that  I 
was  the  first  grateful  person  you  had  ever  met.  Then 
the  rest  of  humanity  are  all  selfish,  and  worshippers 
of  themselves,  and  altogether  vile,  since  you  your¬ 
self  say,  as  I  do,  that  ingratitude  is  the  unpardon¬ 
able  sin ;  and  God  has  made  a  world  full  of  unpar¬ 
donable  sinners,  and  unless  you  include  yourself  in 
the  exception  you  graciously  make  in  my  favour,  no 
one  but  I  shall  be  saved.  And  yet  you  say  also  with 
me  that  God  is  good.  Do  you  deny  that  you  are 
utterly  inconsistent?” 

44  I  may  make  you  some  concession  in  a  feAv  minutes, 
but  I  am  not  going  to  yield  to  such  logic.  You  have 
committed  the  fallacy  of  the  undistributed  middle 
term,  if  you  care  to  know  the  proper  name  for  it.  I 
did  not  say  that  all  men,  saving  you,  were  ungrateful. 
I  said  that,  saving  you,  the  persons  I  have  met  in 
my  life  have  been  ungrateful.  You  ought  to  distin¬ 
guish.” 

44  All  I  can  say  is,  then,  that  you  have  had  a  very 
unfortunate  experience  of  life,”  retorted  Isaacs 
warmly. 

44 1  have,”  said  I,  44 but  since  you  yield  the  techni¬ 
cal  point  of  logic,  I  will  confess  that  I  made  the 
assertion  hastily  and  overshot  the  mark.  I  do  not 
remember,  however,  to  have  met  any  one  who  felt 
so  strongly  on  the  point  as  you  do.” 

44  Now  you  speak  like  a  rational  being,”  said  Isaacs, 
quite  pacified.  44  Extraordinary  feelings  are  the  re¬ 
sult  of  unusual  circumstances.  I  was  in  such  dis- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


151 


tress  as  rarely  falls  to  tlie  lot  of  an  innocent  man  of 
fine  temperament  and  good  abilities.  I  am  now  in 
a  position  of  such  wealth  and  prosperity  as  still  more 
seldom  are  given  to  a  man  of  my  age  and  antecedents. 
I  remember  that  I  obtained  the  first  step  on  my  road 
to  fortune  through  the  kindness  of  John  Weston - 
haugh,  though  I  could  never  learn  his  name,  and  I 
met  him  at  last,  as  you  saw,  by  an  accident.  I  call 
that  accident  a  favour,  and  an  opportunity  bestowed 
on  me  by  Allah,  and  the  meeting  has  roused  in  me 
those  feelings  of  thankfulness  which,  for  want  of  an 
object  upon  which  to  show  them,  have  been  put  away 
out  of  sight  as  a  thing  sacred  for  many  years.  I  am 
willing  you  should  say  that,  were  my  present  fortune 
less,  my  gratitude  would  be  proportionately  less  felt 
—  it  is  very  likely  —  though  the  original  gift  remain 
the  same,  one  rupee  and  no  more.  You  are  entitled 
to  think  of  any  man  as  grateful  in  proportion  to  the 
gift,  so  long  as  you  allow  the  gratitude  at  all.”  He 
made  this  speech  in  a  perfectly  natural  and  uncon¬ 
cerned  way,  as  if  he  were  contemplating  the  case  of 
another  person. 

“  Seriously,  Isaacs,  I  would  not  do  so  for  the  world. 
I  believe  you  were  as  grateful  twelve  years  ago,  when 
you  were  poor,  as  you  are  now  that  }rou  are  rich.” 
Isaacs  was  silent,  but  a  look  of  great  gentleness 
crossed  his  face.  There  was  at  times  something 
almost  angelic  in  the  perfect  kindness  of  his  eyes. 

uTo  return,”  I  said  at  last,  “to  the  subject  from 
which  we  started,  the  tigers.  If  we  are  really  going, 


152 


MR.  ISAACS. 


we  must  leave  here  the  day  after  to-morrow  morning 
—  indeed,  why  not  to-morrow  ?  ” 

“No;  to-morrow  we  are  to  play  that  game  of  polo, 
which  I  am  looking  forward  to  with  pleasure.  Be¬ 
sides,  it  will  take  the  men  three  days  to  get  the 
elephants  together,  and  I  only  telegraphed  this  morn¬ 
ing  to  the  collector  of  the  district  to  make  the 

o 

arrangements.” 

“  So  you  have  already  taken  steps  ?  Does  Kildare 
know  you  have  sent  orders?” 

“  Certainly.  He  came  to  me  this  morning  at  day¬ 
break,  and  we  determined  to  arrange  everything  and 
take  uncle  Ghyrkins  for  granted.  You  need  not 
look  astonished;  Kildare  and  I  are  allies,  and  very 
good  friends.”  What  a  true  Oriental!  How  wise 
and  far-sighted  was  the  Persian,  how  bold  and  reck¬ 
less  the  Irishman !  It  was  odd,  I  thought,  that  Kil¬ 
dare  had  not  mentioned  the  interview  with  Isaacs. 
Yet  there  was  a  certain  rough  delicacy  —  contra¬ 
dictory  and  impulsive  —  in  his  silence  about  this 
coalition  with  his  rival.  We  rode  along  and  dis¬ 
cussed  the  plans  for  the  expedition.  All  the  men 
in  the  party,  except  Lord  Steepleton,  who  had  not 
been  long  in  India,  had  killed  tigers  before.  There 
would  be  enough  of  us,  without  asking  any  one 
else  to  join.  The  collector  to  whom  Isaacs  had  tele¬ 
graphed  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  His,  and  would 
probably  go  out  for  a  few  days  with  us.  It  all 
seemed  easy  enough  and  plain  sailing.  In  the 
course  of  time  we  returned  to  our  hotel,  dressed, 


MR.  ISAACS. 


153 


and  made  our  way  through  the  winding  roads  to 
Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins’  bungalow. 

We  were  met  on  the  verandah  by  the  old  commis¬ 
sioner,  who  welcomed  us  warmly  and  praised  our 
punctuality,  for  the  clock  was  striking  seven  in  the 
drawing-room,  as  we  divested  ourselves  of  our  light 
top-coats.  In  the  vestibule,  Miss  Westonhaugh  and 
her  brother  came  forward  to  greet  us. 

“John,”  said  the  young  lady,  “you  know  I  told 
you  there  was  some  one  here  whom  you  got  out  of 
trouble  ever  so  many  years  ago  in  Bombay.  Here  he 
is.  This  is  anew  introduction.  Mr.  John  Weston  - 
haugh,  Mr.  Abdul  Hafiz-ben-Isak,  commonly  known 
to  his  friends  as  Mr.  Isaacs.”  Her  face  beamed  with 
pleasure,  and  I  thought  with  pride,  as  she  led  her 
brother  to  Isaacs,  and  her  eyes  rested  long  on  the 
Persian  with  a  look  that,  to  me,  argued  something 
more  than  a  mere  interest.  The  two  men  clasped 
hands  and  stood  for  some  seconds  looking  at  each 
other  in  silence,  but  with  very  different  expressions. 
Westonhaugh  wore  a  look  of  utter  amazement,  though 
he  certainly  seemed  pleased.  The  good  heart  that 
had  prompted  the  good  action  twelve  years  before  was 
still  in  the  right  place,  above  any  petty  considera¬ 
tions  about  nationality.  Ilis  astonishment  gradually 
changed  to  a  smile  of  real  greeting  and  pleasure, 
as  he  began  to  shake  the  hand  he  still  held.  I 
thought  that  even  the  faintest  tinge  of  blood  coloured 
his  pale  cheek. 

“God  bless  my  soul,”  said  he,  “  I  remember  you 


154 


MR.  ISAACS. 


perfectly  well  now.  But  it  is  so  unexpected;  my 
sister  reminded  me  of  the  story,  which  I  had  not  for¬ 
gotten,  and  now  I  look  at  you  I  remember  you  per¬ 
fectly.  I  am  so  glad.” 

As  Isaacs  answered,  his  voice  trembled,  and  his 
face  was  very  pale.  There  was  a  moisture  in  the 
brilliant  eyes  that  told  of  genuine  emotion. 

“Mr.  Westonhaugh,  I  consider  that  I  owe  to  you 
everything  I  have  in  the  world.  This  is  a  greater 
pleasure  than  I  thought  was  in  store  for  me.  Indeed 
I  thank  you  again.” 

His  voice  would  not  serve  him.  He  stopped  short 
and  turned  away  to  look  for  something  in  his  coat. 

“Indeed,”  said  Westonhaugh,  “it  was  a  very  little 
thing  I  did  for  you.”  And  presently  the  two  men 
went  together  into  the  drawing-room,  Westonhaugh 
asking  all  manner  of  questions,  which  Isaacs,  who 
was  himself  again,  began  to  answer.  The  rest  of  us 
remained  in  the  vestibule  to  meet  Lord  Steepleton, 
who  at  that  moment  came  up  the  steps.  There  were 
more  greetings,  and  then  the  head  khitmatgar  appeared 
and  informed  the  “  Sahib  log ,  protectors  of  the  poor, 
that  their  meat  was  ready.”  So  we  filed  into  the 
dining-room. 

Isaacs  was  placed  at  Miss  Westonhaugh’s  right, 
and  her  brother  sat  on  liis  other  side.  Ghyrkins  was 
opposite  his  niece  at  the  other  end,  and  Kildare  and 
I  were  together,  facing  Westonhaugh  and  Isaacs,  a 
party  of  six.  Of  course  Kildare  sat  beside  the  lady. 

The  dinner  opened  very  pleasantly.  I  could  see 


MR.  ISAACS. 


155 


that  Isaacs’  undisguised  gratitude  and  delight  in 
having  at  last  met  the  man  who  had  helped  him  had 
strongly  predisposed  John  Westonhaugh  in  his  fa¬ 
vour.  Who  is  it  that  is  not  pleased  at  finding  that 
some  deed  of  kindness,  done  long  ago  with  hardly  a 
thought,  has  borne  fruit  and  been  remembered  and 
treasured  up  by  the  receiver  as  the  turning-point  in 
his  life  ?  Is  there  any  pleasure  greater  than  that  we 
enjoy  through  the  happiness  of  others  —  in  those 
rare  cases  where  kindness  is  not  misplaced?  I  had 
had  time  to  reflect  that  Isaacs  had  most  likely  told  a 
part  of  his  story  to  Miss  Westonhaugh  on  the  pre¬ 
vious  afternoon  as  soon  as  he  had  recognised  her 
brother.  He  might  have  told. her  before ;  I  did  not 
know  how  long  he  had  known  her,  but  it  must  have 
been  some  time.  Presently  she  turned  to  him. 

“Mr.  Isaacs,”  said  she,  “some  of  us  know  some¬ 
thing  of  your  history.  Why  will  you  not  tell  us  the 
rest  now?  My  uncle  has  heard  nothing  of  it,  and  I 
know  Lord  Steepleton  is  fond  of  novels.” 

Isaacs  hesitated  long,  lint  as  every  one  pressed 
him  in  turn,  he  yielded  at  last.  And  he  told  it  well. 
It  was  exactly  the  narrative  lie  had  given  me,  in 
every  detail  of  fact,  but  the  whole  effect  was  differ¬ 
ent.  I  saw  how  true  a  mastery  he  had  of  the  English 
language,  for  he  knew  his  audience  thoroughly,  and 
by  a  little  colour  here  and  an  altered  expression  there 
he  made  it  graphic  and  striking,  not  without  humour, 
and  altogether  free  of  a  certain  mystical  tinge  he  had 
imparted  to  it  when  we  were  alone.  He  talked 


156 


MR.  ISAACS. 


easily,  with  no  more  constraint  than  on  other  occa¬ 
sions,  and  his  narrative  was  a  small  social  success. 
I  had  not  seen  him  in  evening  dress  before,  and  I 
could  not  help  thinking  how  much  more  thoroughly 
he  looked  the  polished  man  of  the  world  than  the 
other  men.  Kildare  never  appeared  to  greater  advan¬ 
tage  than  in  the  uniform  and  trappings  of  his  profes¬ 
sion.  In  a  black  coat  and  a  white  tie  he  looked  like 
any  other  handsome  young  Englishman,  utterly  with¬ 
out  individuality.  But  Isaacs,  with  his  pale  com¬ 
plexion  and  delicate  high-bred  features,  bore  himself 
like  a  noble  of  the  old  school.  Westonhaugh  beside 
him  looked  washed-out  and  deathly,  Kildare  was  too 
coarsely  healthy,  and  Ghyrkins  and  I,  representing 
different  types  of  extreme  plainness,  served  as  foils 
to  all  three. 

I  watched  Miss  Westonhaugh  while  Isaacs  was 
speaking.  She  had  evidently  heard  the  whole  story, 
for  her  expression  showed  beforehand  the  emotion 
she  expected  to  feel  at  each  point.  Her  colour  came 
and  went  softly,  and  her  eyes  brightened  with  a  warm 
light  beneath  the  dark  brows  that  contrasted  so 
strangely  yet  delightfully  with  the  mass  of  flaxen- 
white  hair.  She  wore  something  dark  and  soft,  cut 
square  at  the  neck,  and  a  plain  circlet  of  gold  was 
her  only  ornament.  She  was  a  beautiful  creature, 
certainly;  one  of  those  striking-looking  women  of 
whom  something  is  always  expected,  until  they  drop 
quietly  out  of  youth  into  middle  age,  and  the  world 
finds  out  that  they  are,  after  all,  not  heroines  of 


MR.  ISAACS. 


157 


romance,  but  merely  plain,  lionest,  good  women; 
good  wives  and  good  mothers  who  love  their  homes 
and  husbands  well,  though  it  has  pleased  nature  in 
some  strange  freak  to  give  them  the  form  and  feature 
of  a  Semiramis,  a  Cleopatra,  or  a  Jeanne  d’Arc. 

“Dear  me,  how  very  interesting!”  exclaimed  Mr. 
Ghyrkins,  looking  up  from  his  hill  mutton  as  Isaacs 
finished,  and  a  little  murmur  of  sympathetic  applause 
went  round  the  table. 

“  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  have  been  through 
all  that,”  said  Lord  Steepleton,  slowly  proceeding 
to  sip  a  glass  of  claret. 

“Just  think!”  ejaculated  John  Westonliaugh. 
“And  I  was  entertaining  such  a  Sinbad  unawares!  ” 
and  he  took  another  green  pepper  from  the  dish  his 
servant  handed  him. 

“Upon  my  word,  Isaacs,”  I  said,  “some  one  ought 
to  make  a  novel  of  that  story;  it  would  sell  like  wild¬ 
fire.” 

“Why  don’t  you  do  it  yourself,  Griggs?”  he 
asked.  “You  are  a  pressman,  and  I  am  sure  you  are 
welcome  to  the  whole  thing.” 

“I  will,”  I  answered. 

“Oh  do,  Mr.  Griggs,”  said  the  young  lady,  “and 
make  it  wind  up  with  a  tiger-hunt.  You  could  lay 
the  scene  in  Australia  or  the  Barbadoes,  or  some  of 
those  places,  and  put  us  all  in  —  and  kill  us  all  off, 
if  you  like,  you  know.  It  would  be  such  fun.” 
Poor  Miss  Westonliaugh! 

“It  is  easy  to  see  what  you  are  thinking  about 


158 


MR.  ISAACS. 


most,  Miss  Westonhaugli,  ”  said  Lord  Steepleton: 
“the  tigers  are  uppermost  in  your  mind;  and  there¬ 
fore  in  mine  also,”  he  added  gallantly. 

“Indeed,  no  —  I  was  thinking  about  Mr.  Isaacs.” 
She  blushed  scarlet  —  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen 
her  really  embarrassed.  It  was  very  natural  that  she 
should  be  thinking  of  Isaacs  and  the  strange  adven¬ 
tures  he  had  just  recounted;  and  if  she  had  not  cared 
about  him  she  would  not  have  changed  colour.  So 
I  thought,  at  all  events. 

“My  dear,  drink  some  water  immediately,  this 
curry  is  very  hot  —  deuced  hot,  in  fact,”  said  Mr. 
Ghyrkins,  in  perfectly  good  faith. 

John  Westonhaugh,  who  was  busy  breaking  up 
biscuits  and  green  peppers  and  “  Bombay  ducks  ” 
into  his  curry,  looked  up  slowly  at  his  sister  and 
smiled. 

“Why,  you  are  quite  a  griffin,  Katharine,”  said 
he,  “how  they  will  laugh  at  you  in  Bombay!”  I 
wa.s  amused ;  of  course  the  remarks  of  her  uncle  and 
brother  did  not  make  the  blush  subside  —  on  the 
contrary.  Kildare  was  drinking  more  claret,  to  con¬ 
ceal  his  annoyance.  Isaacs  had  a  curious  expression. 
There  was  a  short  silence,  and  for  one  instant  he 
turned  his  eyes  to  Miss  Westonhaugh.  It  was  only 
a  look,  but  it  betrayed  to  me  —  who  knew  what  he 
felt  —  infinite  surprise,  joy,  and  sympathy.  His 
quick  understanding  had  comprehended  that  he  had 
scored  his  first  victory  over  his  rival. 

As  her  eyes  met  those  of  Isaacs,  the  colour  left  her 


MR.  ISAACS. 


159 


cheeks  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  leaving  her  face 
dead  white.  She  drank  a  little  water,  and  presently 
seemed  at  ease  again.  I  was  beginning  to  think  she 
cared  for  him  seriously. 

“ And. pray,  John,”  she  asked,  “what  may  a  griffin 
be  ?  It  is  not  a  very  pretty  name  to  call  a  young 
lady,  is  it?”  ♦ 

.  “Why,  a  griffin,”  put  in  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  “is  the 
‘Mr.  Verdant  Green’  of  the  Civil  Service.  A  young 
civilian  —  or  anybody  else  • —  who  is  just  out  from 
home  is  called  a  griffin.  John  calls  you  a  griffin 
because  you  don’t  understand  eating  pepper.  You 
don’t  find  it  as  chilly  as  he  does!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ”  and 
the  old  fellow  laughed  heartily,  till  he  was  red  in 
the  face,  at  his  bleared  old  pun.  Of  course  every  one 
was  amused  or  professed  to  he,  for  it  was  a  diversion 
welcomed  by  the  three  men  of  us  who  had  seen  the 
young  girl’s  embarrassment. 

“A  griffin,”  said  I,  “is  a  thing  of  joy.  Mr. 
Westonhaugh  was  a  griffin  when  he  gave  Mr.  Isaacs 
that  historical  rupee.”  I  cast  my  little  bombshell 
into  the  conversation,  and  placidly  went  on  manipu¬ 
lating  my  rice. 

Isaacs  was  in  too  gay  a  humour  to  be  offended,  and 
he  only  said,  turning  to  Miss  Westonhaugh — • 

“Mr.  Griggs  is  a  cynic,  you  know.  You  must  not 
believe  anything  he  says.” 

“If  doing  kind  things  makes  one  a  griffin,  I  hope  I 
may  he  one  always,”  said  Miss  Westonhaugh  quickly, 
“and  I  trust  my  brother  is  as  much  a  griffin  as  ever.” 


160 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“I  am,  I  assure  you,”  said  he.  “But  Mr.  Griggs 
is  quite  right,  and  shows  a  profound  knowledge  of 
Indian  life.  No  one  but  a  griffin  of  the  greenest 
ever  gave  anybody  a  rupee  in  Bombay  —  or  ever  will 
now,  1  should  think.” 

“Oh,  John,  are  you  going  to  he  cynical  too?” 

“No,  Katharine,  I  am  not  cynical  at  all.  I  do  not 
think  you  are  quite  sure  what  a  ‘cynic  ’  is.” 

“Oh  yes,  I  know  quite  well.  Diogenes  was  a 
cynic,  and  Saint  Jerome,  and  other  people  of  that 
class.” 

“  A  man  who  lives  in  a  tub,  and  abuses  Alexander 
the  Great,  and  that  sort  of  thing,”  remarked  Kildare, 
who  had  not  spoken  for  some  time. 

“Mr.  Griggs,”  said  John  Westonhaugh,  “since 
you  are  the  accused,  pray  define  what  you  mean  by  a 
cynic,  and  then  Mr.  Isaacs,  as  the  accuser,  can  have 
a  chance  too.” 

“Very  well,  I  will.  A  man  is  a  cynic  if  he  will 
do  no  good  to  any  one  because  he  believes  every  one 
past  improvement.  Most  men  who  do  good  actions 
are  also  cynics,  because  they  well  know  that  they  are 
doing  more  harm  than  good  by  their  charity.  Mr. 
Westonhaugh  has  the  discrimination  to  appreciate 
this,  and  therefore  he  is  not  a  cynic.” 

“It  is  well  you  introduced  the  saving  clause, 
Griggs,”  said  Isaacs  to  me  from  across  the  table.  “I 
am  going  to  define  you  now ;  for  I  strongly  suspect 
that  you  are  the  very  ideal  of  a  philosopher  of  that 
class.  You  are  a  man  who  believes  in  all  that  is  good 


MR.  ISAACS. 


161 


and  beautiful  in  theory,  but  by  too  much  indifference 
to  good  in  small  measures  — •  for  you  want  a  thing  per¬ 
fect,  or  you  want  it  not  at  all  —  you  have  abstracted 
yourself  from  perceiving  it  anywhere,  except  in  the 
most  brilliant  examples  of  heroism  that  history  affords. 
You  set  up  in  your  imagination  an  ideal  which  you 
call  the  good  man,  and  you  are  utterly  dissatisfied 
with  anything  less  perfect  than  perfection.  The 
result  is  that,  though  you  might  do  a  good  action  from 
your  philosophical  longing  to  approach  the  ideal  in 
your  own  person,  you  will  not  suffer  yourself  to 
believe  that  others  are  consciously  or  unconsciously 
striving  to  make  themselves  better  also.  And  you 
do  not  believe  that  any  one  can  be  made  a  better 
man  by  any  one  else,  by  any  exterior  agency,  by  any 
good  that  you  or  others  may  do  to  him.  What  makes 
you  what  you  are  is  the  fact  that  you  really  cherish 
this  beautiful  ideal  image  of  your  worship  and  rever¬ 
ence,  and  love  it;  but  for  this,  you  would  be  the 
most  insufferable  man  of  my  acquaintance,  instead 
of  being  the  most  agreeable.” 

Isaacs  was  gifted  with  a  marvellous  frankness  of 
speech.  He  always  said  what  he  meant,  with  a 
supreme  indifference  to  consequences;  but  he  said  it 
with  such  perfect  honesty  and  evident  appreciation 
of  what  was  good,  even  when  he  most  vehemently 
condemned  what  he  did  not  like,  that  it  was  impossi¬ 
ble  to  be  annoyed.  Every  one  laughed  at  his  attack 
on  me,  and  having  satisfied  my  desire  to  observe 
Miss  Westonliaugh,  which  had  prompted  my  first 

M 


162 


MR.  ISAACS. 


remark  about  griffins,  I  thought  it  was  time  to  turn 
the  conversation  to  the  projected  hunt. 

“My  dear  fellow,”  I  said,  “I  think  that  in  spite  of 
your  Parthian  shaft,  your  definition  of  a  cynic  is  as 
complimentary  to  the  school  at  large  as  to  me  in  par¬ 
ticular.  Meanwhile,  however,”  I  added,  turning  to 
Mr.  Ghyrkins,  “I  am  inclined  to  believe  with  Lord 
Steepleton  that  the  subject  uppermost  in  the  thoughts 
of  most  of  us  is  the  crusade  against  the  tigers.  What 
do  you  say?  Shall  we  not  all  go  as  we  are,  a  neat 
party  of  six?” 

44  W ell,  well,  Mr.  Griggs,  we  shall  see,  you  know. 
Now,  if  we  are  going  at  all,  when  do  you  mean  to 
start?  ” 

“The  sooner  the  better  of  course,”  broke  in 
Kildare,  and  he  launched  into  a  host  of  reasons  for 
going  immediately,  including  the  wildest  statistics 
about  the  habits  of  tigers  in  winter.  This  was  quite 
natural,  however,  as  he  was  a  thorough  Irishman  and 
had  never  seen  a  tiger  in  his  life.  Mr.  Currie  Ghyr¬ 
kins  vainly  attempted  to  stem  the  torrent  of  his  elo¬ 
quence,  but  at  last  pinned  him  on  some  erratic 
statement  about  tigers  moulting  later  in  the  year  and 
their  skins  not  being  worth  taking.  Kildare  would 
have  asserted  with  equal  equanimity  that  all  tigers 
shed  their  teeth  and  their  tails  in  December;  he  was 
evidently  trying  to  rouse  Mr.  Ghyrkins  into  a  dis¬ 
cussion  on  the  subject,  of  tiger  shooting  in  general, 
a  purpose  very  easily  accomplished.  The  old  gentle¬ 
man  was  soon  goaded  to  madness  by  Kildare’s  won- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


163 


derful  opinions,  and  before  long  be  vowed  that  the 
youngster  had  never  seen  a  tiger, — not  one  in  his 
whole  life,  sir,  —  and  that  it  was  high  time  he  did, 
high  time  indeed,  and  he  swore  he  should  see  one 
before  he  was  a  week  older.  Yes,  sir,  before  he  was 
a  week  older,  “if  I  have  to  carry  you  among  ’em 
like  a  baby  in  arms,  sir,  by  gad,  sir  —  I  should  think 
so!” 

This  was  all  we  wanted,  and  in  another  ten  minutes 
we  were  drinking  a  bumper  to  the  health  of  the  whole 
tiger-hunt  and  of  Miss  Westonhaugh  in  particular. 
Isaacs  joined  with  the  rest,  and  though  he  only  drank 
some  sherbet,  as  I  watched  his  bright  eyes  and  pale 
cheek,  I  thought  that  never  knight  drank  truer  toast 
to  his  lady.  Miss  Westonhaugh  rose  and  went  out, 
leaving  us  to  smoke  for  a  while.  The  conversation 
was  general,  and  turned  on  the  chase,  of  course.  In 
a  few  minutes  Isaacs  dropped  his  cigarette  and  went 
quietly  out.  I  determined  to  detain  the  rest  as  long 
as  possible,  and  I  seconded  Mr.  Ghyrkins  in  passing 
the  claret  briskly  round,  telling  all  manner  of  stories 
of  all  nations  and  peoples  —  ancient  tales  that  would 
not  amuse  a  schoolboy  in  America,  but  which  were 
a  revelation  of  profound  wit  and  brilliant  humour 
to  the  unsophisticated  British  mind.  By  immense 
efforts  —  and  I  hate  to  exert  myself  in  conversation 
—  I  succeeded  in  prolonging  the  session  through  a 
cigar  and  a  half,  but  at  last  I  was  forced  to  submit 
to  a  move;  and  with  a  somewhat  ancient  remark 
from  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  to  the  effect  that  all  good  things 


164 


MR.  ISAACS. 


must  come  to  an  end,  we  returned  to  the  drawing¬ 
room. 

Isaacs  and  Miss  Westonhaugh  were  looking  over 
some  English  photographs,  and  she  was  enthusiasti¬ 
cally  praising  the  beauties  of  Gothic  architecture, 
while  Isaacs  was  making  the  most  of  his  opportunity, 
and  taking  a  good  look  at  her  as  she  bent  over  the 
album.  After  we  came  in,  she  made  a  little  music 
at  the  tuneless  piano  —  there  never  was  a  piano  in 
India  yet  that  lr.  /  tune  in  it  —  playing  and  sing¬ 
ing  a  little,  very  prettily.  She  sang  something  about 
a  body  in  the  rye,  and  then  something  else  about 
drinking  only  with  the  eyes,  to  which  her  brother 
sang  a  sort  of  second  very  nicely.  I  do  not  under¬ 
stand  much  about  music,  but  I  thought  the  allusion 
to  Isaacs’  temperance  in  only  drinking  with  his  eyes 
was  rather  pointed.  He  said,  however,  that  he  liked 
it  even  better  with  a  second  than  when  she  sang  it 

o 

alone,  so  I  argued  that  it  was  not  the  first  time  he 
had  heard  it. 

“ Mr.  Isaacs,”  said  she,  “you  have  often  promised 
to  sing  something  Persian  for  us.  Will  you  not 
keep  your  word  now?” 

“When  we  are  among  the  tigers,  Miss  Weston¬ 
haugh,  next  week.  Then  I  will  try  and  borrow  a 
lute  and  sing  you  something.” 

It  was  late  for  an  Indian  dinner-party,  so  we  took 
our  departure  soon  afterwards,  having  agreed  to  meet 
the  following  afternoon  at  Annandale  for  the  game 
of  polo,  in  which  Westonhaugh  said  he  would  also 


MR.  ISAACS. 


165 


play.  He  and  Isaacs  made  some  appointment  for  the 
morning;  they  seemed  to  be  very  sympathetic  to  each 
other.  Kildare  mounted  and  rode  homeward  with 
us,  though  he  had  much  farther  to  go  than  we.  If 
he  felt  any  annoyance  at  the  small  successes  Isaacs 
had  achieved  during  the  evening,  he  was  far  too 
courteous  a  gentleman  to  show  it;  and  so,  as  we 
groped  our  way  through  the  trees  by  the  starlight, 
chiefly  occupied  in  keeping  our  horses  on  their  legs, 
the  snatches  of  conversation  tin  ye  possible  were 
pleasant,  if  not  animated,  and  there  was  a  cordial 
“  Good-night  ”  on  both  sides,  as  we  left  Kildare  to 
pursue  his  way  alone. 


166 


MR.  ISAACS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

It  was  nearly  four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
Isaacs  and  I  emerged  from  the  narrow  road  upon  the 
polo  ground.  We  were  clad  in  the  tight-fitting  gar¬ 
ments  which  are  necessary  for  the  game,  and  wrapped 
in  light  top-coats :  as  we  came  out  on  the  green  we 
saw  a  number  of  other  men  in  similar  costume  stand¬ 
ing  about,  and  a  great  many  native  grooms  leading- 
ponies  up  and  down.  Miss  Westonhaugh  was  there 
in  her  gray  habit  and  broad  hat,  and  by  her  side,  on 
foot,  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare  was  making  the  most 
of  his  time,  as  he  waited  for  the  rest  of  the  players. 
Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins  was  ambling  about  on  his  broad 
little  horse,  and  John  Westonhaugh  stood  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  a  large  Trichinopoli  cheroot 
between  his  lips,  apparently  gazing  into  space. 
Several  other  men,  more  or  less  known  to  us  and  to 
each  other,  moved  about  or  chatted  disconnectedly, 
and  one  or  two  arrived  after  us.  Some  of  them  wore 
coloured  jerseys  that  showed  brightly  over  the  open 
collars  of  their  coats,  others  were  in  ordinary  dress 
and  had  come  to  see  the  game.  Farther  off,  at  one 
side  of  the  ground,  one  or  two  groups  of  ladies  and 
their  escorting  cavaliers  haunted  at  a  short  distance 


MR.  ISAACS. 


167 


by  their  saices  in  many-coloured  turbans  and  belts, 
or  cummer-bunds,  as  the  sash  is  called  in  India,  moved 
slowly  about,  glancing  from  time  to  time  towards  the 
place  where  the  players  and  their  ponies  were  pre¬ 
paring  for  the  contest. 

Few  games  require  so  little  preparation  and  so  few 
preliminaries  as  polo,  descended  as  it  is  from  an  age 
when  more  was  thought  of  good  horsemanship  and 
quick  eye  than  of  any  little  refinements  depending 
on  an  accurate  knowledge  of  fixed  rules.  Any  one 
who  is  a  firstrate  rider  and  is  quick  with  his  hands 
can  learn  to  play  polo.  The  stiffest  of  arms  can  be 
limbered  and  the  most  recalcitrant  wrist  taught  to 
turn  nimbly  in  its  socket ;  but  the  essential  condition 
is,  that  the  player  should  know  how  to  ride.  This 
being  established,  there  is  no  reason  why  anybody 
who  likes  should  not  play  the  game,  if  he  will  only 
use  a  cetrain  amount  of  caution,  and  avoid  braining 
the  other  players  and  injuring  the  ponies  by  too  wild 
a  use  of  his  mallet.  Presentlv  it  was  found  that  all 
who  were  to  play  had  arrived  —  eight  of  us  all  told. 
Kildare  had  arranged  the  sides  and  had  brought  the 
other  men  necessary  to  make  the  number  complete, 
so  we  mounted  and  took  up  our  positions  on  the 
ground.  Kildare  and  Isaacs  were  together,  and 
W estonhaugh  and  I  on  the  other  side,  with  two  men 
I  knew  slightly.  We  won  the  charge,  and  Weston- 
haugh,  who  was  a  celebrated  player,  struck  the  ball 
off  cleverly,  and  I  followed  him  up  with  a  rush  as 
he  raced  after  it.  Isaacs,  on  the  other  side,  swept 


168 


MR.  ISAACS. 


along  easily,  and  as  the  ball  swerved  on  striking  the 
ground  bent  far  over  till  he  looked  as  though  he 

O  o 

were  out  of  the  saddle  and  stopped  it  cleverly,  while 
Kildare,  who  was  close  behind,  got  a  good  stroke  in 
just  in  time,  as  Westonhaugh  and  I  galloped  down  on 
him,  and  landed  the  ball  far  to  the  rear  near  our  goal. 
As  we  wheeled  quickly,  I  saw  that  one  of  the  other 
two  men  on  our  side  had  stopped  it  and  was  begin¬ 
ning  to  “  dribble  ”  it  along.  This  was  very  bad  play, 
both  Westonhaugh  and  I  being  so  far  forward,  and  it 
met  its  reward.  Isaacs  and  Kildare  raced  down  on 
him,  but  the  latter  soon  pulled  up  on  finding  himself 
passed,  and  waited.  Isaacs  rushed  upon  the  tem¬ 
porising  player  and  got  the  ball  away  from  him  in  no 
time;  eluded  the  other  man,  and  with  a  neat  stroke 
sent  the  ball  right  between  the  poles.  The  game 
had  hardly  lasted  three  minutes,  and  a  little  sound 
of  clapping  was  heard  from  where  the  spectators  were 
standing,  far  off  on  one  side.  I  could  see  Miss 
Westonhaugh  plainly,  as  she  cantered  with  her  uncle 
to  where  the  victors  were  standing  together  on  the 
other  side,  patting  their  ponies  and  adjusting  stirrup 
and  saddle.  Isaacs  had  his  back  turned,  but  wheeled 
round  as  he  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs  behind  him  and 
bowed  low  in  his  saddle  to  the  fair  girl,  whose  face, 
I  could  see  even  at  that  distance,  was  flushed  with 
pleasure.  They  remained  a  few  minutes  in  conver¬ 
sation,  and  then  the  two  spectators  rode  away,  and 
we  took  up  our  positions  once  more. 

The  next  game  was  a  much  longer  one.  It  was 


MR.  ISAACS. 


169 


the  turn  of  the  other  party  to  hit  off,  for  Kildare 
won  the  charge.  There  were  encounters  of  all  kinds ; 
twice  the  ball  was  sent  over  the  line,  but  outside  the 
goal,  by  long  sweeping  blows  from  Isaacs,  who  ever 
hovered  on  the  edge  of  the  scrimmage,  and,  by  his 
good  riding,  and  the  help  of  a  splendid  pony,  often 
had  a  chance  where  another  would  have  had  none. 
At  last  it  happened  that  I  was  chasing  the  ball  back 
towards  our  goal,  from  one  of  his  hits,  and  he  was 
pursuing  me.  I  had  the  advantage  of  a  long  start, 
and  before  he  could  reach  me  I  got  in  a  heavy  “  back¬ 
hander  ”  that  sent  the  ball  far  away  to  one  side, 
where,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  Westonhaugh 
was  waiting.  Quick  as  thought  he  carried  it  along, 
and  in  another  minute  we  had  scored  a  goal,  amidst 
enthusiastic  shouts  from  the  spectators,  who  had 
been  kept  long  in  suspense  by  the  protracted  game. 
This  time  it  was  to  our  side  that  the  young  girl 
came,  riding  up  to  her  brother  to  congratulate  him 
on  his  success.  I  thought  she  had  less  colour  as  she 
came  nearer,  and  though  she  smiled  sweetly  as  she 
said,  “It  was  splendidly  played,  John,”  there  was 
not  so  much  enthusiasm  in  her  voice  as  the  said 
John,  who  had  really  won  the  game  with  masterly 
neatness,  might  have  expected.  Then  she  sat  quietly 
looking  over  the  ground,  while  we  dismounted  from 
our  ponies,  breathless,  and  foaming,  and  lathery, 
from  the  hard-fought  battle.  The  grooms  ran  up 
with  blankets  and  handfuls  of  grass  to  give  the  poor 
beasts  a  rub,  and  covering  them  carefully  after 
removing  the  saddles,  led  them  away. 


170 


MR.  ISAACS. 


The  sun  leaves  Annandale  early,  and  I  put  on  a 
coat  and  lit  a  cigarette,  while  the  saice  saddled  our 
second  mounts.  There  are  few  prettier  sights  than 
an  English  game,  of  any  kind,  on  a  beautiful  stretch 
of  turf.  The  English  live,  and  move  and  have  their 
being  out  of  doors.  A  cricket-match,  tennis,  a  race¬ 
course,  or  a  game  of  polo,  show  them  at  their  greatest 
advantage,  whether  as  players  or  spectators.  Their 
fresh  complexions  suit  the  green  of  the  grass  and  of 
the  trees  as  naturally  as  a  bed  of  roses,  or  cyclamens, 
or  any  fresh  and  healthy  flower  will  combine  with 
the  grass  and  the  ferns  in  garden  or  glen.  The  glori¬ 
ous  vitality  that  belongs  to  their  race  seems  to  blos¬ 
som  freshly  in  the  contact  with  their  mother  earth, 
and  the  physical  capacity  for  motion  with  which 
nature  endows  them  makes  them  graceful  and  fas¬ 
cinating  to  watch,  when  in  some  free  and  untram¬ 
melled  dress  of  white  they  are  at  their  games,  batting 
and  bowling  and  galloping  and  running;  they  have 
the  same  natural  grace  then  as  a  herd  of  deer  or 
antelopes ;  they  are  beautiful  animals  in  the  full  en¬ 
joyment  of  life  and  vigour,  of  health  and  strength ; 
they  are  intensely  alive.  Something  of  this  kind 
passed  through  my  mind,  in  all  probability,  and, 
combined  with  the  delightful  sensation  any  strong 
man  feels  in  the  pause  after  great  exertion,  dis¬ 
posed  me  well  towards  my  fellows  and  towards  man¬ 
kind  at  large.  Besides  we  had  won  the  last  game. 

“You  look  pleased,  Mr.  Griggs,”  said  Miss  Wes- 
tonhaugh,  who  had  probably  been  watching  me  for  a 


MR.  ISAACS. 


171 


moment  or  two.  “I  did  not  know  cynics  were  ever 
pleased.” 

“  I  remember  who  it  was  that  promised  to  crown 
the  victors  of  this  match,  Miss  Westonhaugh,  and 
I  cherish  some  hopes  of  being  one  of  them.  Would 
you  mind  very  much?” 

44  Mind  ?  Oh  dear  no ;  you  had  better  try.  But  if 
you  stand  there  with  your  coat  on,  you  will  not  have 
much  chance.  They  are  all  mounted,  and  waiting 
for  you.” 

44  Well,  here  goes,”  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  got  into 
the  saddle  again.  44 1  hope  he  may  win,  but  he 
would  find  me  out  in  a  minute  if  I  tried  to  play  into 
his  hands.”  We  were  only  to  play  the  best  out  of 
three  goals,  and  the  score  was  44 one  all.”  All  eight 
of  us  had  fresh  mounts,  and  the  experience  of  each 
other's  play  we  had  got  in  the  preceding  games 
made  it  likely  that  the  game  would  be  a  long  one. 
And  so  it  turned  out. 

From  the  first  things  went  badly.  John  Weston¬ 
haugh  \s  fresh  pony  was  very  wild,  and  he  had  to  take 
him  a  breather  half  over  the  ground  before  he  could 
take  his  place  for  the  charge.  When  at  last  the  first 
stroke  was  made,  the  ball  went  low  along  the 
ground,  spinning  and  twisting  to  right  and  left. 
Both  Kildare  and  Isaacs  missed  it  and  wheeled  across 
to  return,  when  a  prolonged  scrimmage  ensued  less 
than  thirty  yards  from  their  goal.  Every  one  played 
his  best,  and  we  wheeled  and  spun  round  in  a  way 
that  reminded  one  of  a  cavalry  skirmish.  Strokes 


172 


MR.  ISAACS. 


and  back-strokes  followed  quickly,  till  at  last  I  got 
the  ball  as  it  came  rolling  out  between  my  horse’s 
legs,  and,  hotly  pursued,  beyond  the  possibility  of 
making  a  fair  stroke,  I  moved  away  with  it  in  front 
of  me. 

Then  began  one  of  those  interminable  circular 
games  that  all  polo  players  know  so  well,  round  and 
round  the  battlefield,  riding  close  together,  some¬ 
times  one  succeeding  in  driving  the  ball  a  little,  only 
to  be  foiled  by  the  next  man’s  ill-delivered  back- 
stroke;  racing,  and  pulling  up  short,  and  racing 
again,  till  horses  and  riders  were  in  a  perspiration 
and  a  state  of  madness  not  to  be  attained  by  any 
peaceful  means.  At  last,  as  we  were  riding  near  our 
own  goal,  some  one,  I  could  not  see  who,  struck  the 
ball  out  into  the  open.  Isaacs,  who  had  just  missed, 
and  was  ahead,  rode  for  it  like  a  madman,  his  club 
raised  high  for  a  back-stroke.  He  was  hotly  pressed 
by  the  man  who  had  roused  my  wrath  in  the  first 
game  by  his  “  dribbling  ”  policy.  He  was  a  light 
weight  and  had  kept  his  best  horse  for  the  last  game, 
so  that  as  Isaacs  spun  along  at  lightning  speed  the 
little  man  was  very  close  to  him,  his  club  well  back 
for  a  sweeping  hit.  He  rode  well,  but  was  evidently 
not  so  old  a  hand  in  the  game  as  the  rest  of  us. 
They  neared  the  ball  rapidly  and  Isaacs  swerved  a 
little  to  the  left  in  order  to  get  it  well  under  his 
right  hand,  thus  throwing  himself  somewhat  across 
the  track  of  his  pursuer.  As  the  Persian  struck  with 
all  his  force  downwards  and  backwards,  his  adver- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


173 


sary,  excited  by  the  chase,  beyond  all  judgment  or 
reckoning  of  his  chances,  hit  out  wildly,  as  beginners 
will.  The  long  elastic  handle  of  his  weapon  struck 
Isaacs’  horse  on  the  flank  and  glanced  upward,  the 
head  of  the  club  striking  Isaacs  just  above  the  back 
of  the  neck.  We  saw  him  throw  up  his  arms,  the 
club  in  his  right  hand  hanging  to  his  wrist  by  the 
strap.  The  infuriated  little  arab  pony  tore  on,  and 
in  a  moment  more  the  iron  grip  of  the  rider’s  knees 
relaxed,  Isaacs  swayed  heavily  in  the  saddle  and  fell 
over  on  the  near  side,  his  left  foot  hanging  in  the 
stirrup  and  dragging  him  along  some  paces  before 
the  horse  finally  shook  himself  clear  and  scampered 
away  across  the  turf.  The  whole  catastrophe  oc¬ 
curred  in  a  moment;  the  man  who  had  done  the  mis¬ 
chief  threw  away  his  club  to  reach  the  injured  player 
the  sooner,  and  as  we  thundered  after  him,  my  pony 
stumbled  over  the  long  handle,  and  falling,  threw 
me  heavily  over  his  head.  I  escaped  with  a  very 
slight  kick  from  one  of  the  other  horses,  and  leaving 
my  beast  to  take  care  of  himself,  ran  as  fast  as  I 
could  to  where  Isaacs  lay,  now  surrounded  by  the 
six  players  as  they  dismounted  to  help  him.  But 
there  was  some  one  there  before  them. 

The  accident  had  occurred  near  the  middle  of  the 
ground,  and  opposite  the  place  where  Miss  Weston- 
haugh  and  her  uncle  had  taken  up  their  stand  to 
watch  the  contest.  W ith  a  shake  of  the  reins  and  a 
blow  of  the  hand  that  made  the  thoroughbred  bound 
his  length  as  he  plunged  into  a  gallop,  the  girl  rode 


174 


MR.  ISAACS. 


wildly  to  where  Isaacs  lay,  and  reining  the  animal 
back  on  his  haunches,  sprang  to  the  ground  and  knelt 
quickly  down,  so  that  before  the  others  had  reached 
them  she  had  propped  up  his  head  and  was  rubbing 
his  hands  in  hers.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
impulse  that  prompted  her.  She  had  seen  many  an 
accident  in  the  hunting-field,  and  knew  well  that 
when  a  man  fell  like  that  it  was  ten  to  one  he  was 
badly  hurt. 

Isaacs  was  ghastly  pale,  and  there  was  a  little 
blood  on  Miss  Westonhaugh’s  white  gauntlet.  Her 
face  was  whiter  even  than  his,  though  not  a  quiver 
of  mouth  or  eyelash  betrayed  emotion.  The  man 
who  had  done  it  knelt  on  the  other  side,  rubbing  one 
of  the  hands.  Kildare  and  Westonliaugh  galloped 
off  at  full  speed,  and  presently  returned  bearing  a 
brandy-flask  and  a  smelling-bottle,  and  followed  by 
a  groom  with  some  water  in  a  native  lota .  I  wanted 
to  make  him  swallow  some  of  the  liquor,  but  Miss 
Westonhaugli  took  the  flask  from  my  hands. 

“  He  would  not  like  it.  He  never  drinks  it,  you 
know,”  she  said  in  a  quiet  low  voice,  and  pouring 
some  of  the  contents  on  her  handkerchief,  moistened 
all  his  brows  and  face  and  hair  with  the  powerful 
alcohol. 

“Loosen his  belt!  pull  off  his  boots,  some  of  you!  ” 
cried  Mr.  Currie  Gliyrkins,  as  he  came  up  breathless. 
“Take  off  his  belt  —  damn  it,  you  know!  Dear, 
dear!  ”  and  he  got  off  his  tat  with  all  the  alacrity  he 
could  muster. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


175 


Miss  Westonhaugh  never  took  her  eyes  from  the 
face  of  the  prostrate  man  —  pressing  the  wet  hand¬ 
kerchief  to  his  brow,  and  moistening  the  palm  of  the 
hand  she  held  with  brandy.  In  a  few  minutes  Isaacs 
breathed  a  long  heavy  breath,  and  opened  his  eyes. 

“What  is  the  matter?”  he  said;  then,  recollecting 
himself  and  trying  to  move  his  head  —  “  Oh !  I  have 
had  a  tumble.  Give  me  some  water  to  drink.” 
There  was  a  sigh  of  relief  from  every  one  present  as 
he  spoke,  quite  naturally,  and  I  held  the  lota  to  his 
lips.  “  What  became  of  the  ball  ?  ”  he  asked  quickly, 
as  he  sat  up.  Then  turning  round,  he  saw  the 
beautiful  girl  kneeling  at  his  side.  The  blood  rushed 
violently  to  his  face,  and  his  eyes,  a  moment  ago  dim 
with  unconsciousness,  flashed  brightly.  “What! 
Miss  Westonhaugh  —  you?”  he  bounded  to  his  feet, 
but  would  have  fallen  back  if  I  had  not  caught  him 
in  my  arms,  for  he  was  still  dizzy  from  the  heavy 
blow  that  had  stunned  him.  The  blood  came  and 
went  in  his  cheeks,  and  he  hung  on  my  arm  confused 
and  embarrassed,  looking  on  the  ground. 

“I  really  owe  you  all  manner  of  apologies - ” 

he  began. 

“Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear  boy,”  broke  in  Ghyrkins, 
“  my  niece  was  nearest  to  you  when  you  fell,  and  so 
she  came  up  and  did  the  right  thing,  like  the  brave 
girl  she  is.”  The  old  fellow  helped  her  to  rise  as  he 
said  this,  and  he  looked  so  pleased  and  proud  of  her 
that  I  was  delighted  with  him.  “And  now,”  lie 
went  on,  “  we  must  see  how  mucli  you  are  hurt  — 


176 


MR.  ISAACS. 


the  deuce  of  a  knock,  you  know,  enough  to  kill  you 
—  and  if  you  are  not  able  to  ride,  why,  we  will  carry 
you  home,  you  know;  the  devil  of  a  way  off  it  is, 
too,  confound  it  all.”  As  he  jerked  out  his  sen¬ 
tences  he  was  feeling  the  back  of  Isaacs’  head,  to 
ascertain,  if  he  could,  how  much  harm  had  been 
done.  All  this  time  the  man  who  had  done  the  mis¬ 
chief  was  standing. by,  looking  very  penitent,  and 
muttering  sentences  of  apology  as  he  tried  to  per¬ 
form  any  little  office  for  his  victim  that  came  in  his 
way.  Isaacs  stretched  out  his  arm,  while  Ghyrkins 
was  feeling  and  twisting  his  head,  and  taking  the 
man’s  hand,  held  it  a  moment. 

“My  dear  sir,”  he  said,  “I  am  not  in  the  least 
hurt,  1  assure  you,  and  it  was  my  fault  for  crossing 
you  at  such  a  moment.  Please  do  not  think  any¬ 
thing  more  about  it.”  He  smiled  kindly  at  the  young 
fellow,  who  seemed  very  grateful,  and  who  from  that 
day  on  would  have  risked  everything  in  the  world 
for  him.  I  heard  behind  me  the  voice  of  Kildare, 
soliloquising  softly. 

“Faith,”  said  he,  “that  fellow  is  a  gentleman  if  I 
ever  saw  one.  I  am  afraid  I  should  not  have  let  that 
infernal  duffer  off  so  easily.  By-tlie-bye,  Isaacs,” 
he  said  aloud,  coming  up  to  us,  “you  know  you  won 
the  game.  Nobody  stopped  the  ball  after  you  hit  it, 
and  the  saices  say  it  ran  right  through  the  goal.  So 
cheer  up ;  you  have  got  something  for  your  pains  and 
your  tumble.”  It  was  quite  true;  the  phlegmatic 
saices  had  watched  the  ball  instead  of  the  falling 


MR.  ISAACS. 


1T7 


man.  Miss  Westonliaugli,  who  was  really  a  sensi¬ 
ble  and  self-possessed  young  woman,  and  had  begun 
to  be  sure  that  the  accident  would  have  no  serious 
results,  expressed  the  most  unbounded  delight. 

“Thank  you,  Miss  W estonhaugh, ”  said  Isaacs; 
“you  have  kept  your  promise;  you  have  crowned 
the  victor.” 

“With  brandy,”  I  remarked,  folding  up  a  scarf 
which  somebody  had  given  me  wherewith  to  tie  a 
wet  compress  to  the  back  of  his  head. 

“There  is  nothing  the  matter,”  said  Ghyrkins; 
“no  end  of  a  bad  bruise,  that’s  all.  He  will  be  all 
right  in  the  morning,  and  the  skin  is  only  a  little 
broken.” 

“Griggs,”  said  Isaacs,  who  could  now  stand  quite 
firm  again,  “hold  the  wet  handkerchief  in  place,  and 
give  me  that  scarf.”  I  did  as  he  directed,  and  he 
took  the  white  woollen  shawl,  and  in  half  a  dozen 
turns  wound  it  round  his  head  in  a  turban,  deftly  and 
gracefully.  It  was  wonderfully  becoming  to  his 
Oriental  features  and  dark  eyes,  and  I  could  see  that 
Miss  Westonliaugli  thought  so.  There  was  a  mur¬ 
mur  of  approbation  from  the  native  grooms  who 
were  looking  on,  and  who  understood  the  thing. 

“You  see  I  have  done  it  before,”  he  said,  smiling. 
“And  now  give  me  my  coat,  and  we  will  be  getting 
home.  Oh  yes!  I  can  ride  quite  well.” 

“That  man  has  no  end  of  pluck  in  him,”  said  John 
Westonliaugli  to  Kildare. 

“By  Jove!  yes,”  was  the  answer.  “I  have  seen 

N 


178 


MR.  ISAACS. 


men  at  home  make  twice  the  fuss  over  a  tumble  in  a 
ploughed  field,  when  they  were  not  even  stunned.  I 
would  not  have  thought  it.” 

“  He  is  not  the  man  to  make  much  fuss  about  any¬ 
thing  of  that  kind.” 

Isaacs  stoutly  refused  any  further  assistance,  and 
after  walking  up  and  down  a  few  minutes,  he  said 
he  had  got  his  legs  back,  and  demanded  a  cigarette. 
He  lit  it  carefully,  and  mounted  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  and  we  moved  homeward,  followed  by  the 
spectators,  many  of  whom,  of  course,  were  acquaint¬ 
ances,  and  who  had  ridden  up  more  or  less  quickly  to 
make  polite  inquiries  about  the  accident.  No  one 
disputed  with  Isaacs  the  right  to  ride  beside  Miss 
Westonliaugh  on  the  homeward  road.  He  was  the 
victor  of  the  day,  and  of  course  was  entitled  to  the 
best  place.  We  were  all  straggling  along,  but  with¬ 
out  any  great  intervals  between  us,  so  that  the  two 
were  not  able  to  get  away  as  they  had  done  on  Satur¬ 
day  evening,  but  they  talked,  and  I  heard  Miss 
Westonliaugh  laugh.  Isaacs  was  determined  to  show 
that  he  appreciated  his  advantage,  and  though,  for 
all  I  know,  he  might  be  suffering  a  good  deal  of 
pain,  he  talked  gaily  and  sat  his  horse  easily,  rather 
a  strange  figure  in  his  light-coloured  English  over¬ 
coat,  surmounted  by  the  large  white  turban  he  had 
made  out  of  -the  shawl.  As  we  came  out  on  the  mall 
at  the  top  of  the  hill,  Mr.  Ghyrkins  called  a  council 
of  war. 

“Of  course  we  shall  have  to  put  off  the  tiger- 
hunt.” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


179 


“I  suppose  so,”  muttered  Kildare,  disconsolately. 

“  Why?  ”  said  Isaacs.  “ Not  a  bit  of  it.  Head  or 
no  head,  we  will  start  to-morrow  morning.  I  am 
well  enough,  never  fear.” 

“Nonsense,  you  know  it’s  nonsense,”  said  Ghyr- 
kins,  “you  will  be  in  bed  all  day  with  a  raging  head¬ 
ache.  Horrid  things,  knocks  on  the  back  of  the 
head.” 

“Not  I.  My  traps  are  all  packed,  and  my  ser¬ 
vants  have  gone  down  to  Kalka,  and  I  am  going  to¬ 
morrow  morning.” 

“Well,  of  course,  if  you  really  think  you  can,” 
etc.  etc.  So  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  promise  that 
if  he  should  be  suffering  in  the  morning  he  would 
send  word  in  time  to  put  off  the  party.  “Besides,” 
he  added,  “  even  if  I  could  not  go,  that  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  not.” 

“Stuff,”  said  Ghyrkins. 

“Oh!”  said  Miss  Westonhaugh,  looking  rather 
blank. 

“That  would  never  do,”  said  John. 

“  Preposterous !  we  could  not  think  of  going  with¬ 
out  you,”  said  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare  loudly;  he 
was  beginning  to  like  Isaacs  in  spite  of  himself. 
And  so  we  parted. 

“I  shall  not  dine  to-night,  Griggs,”  said  Isaacs, 
as  we  paused  before  his  door.  “  Come  in  for  a 
moment:  you  can  help  me.”  We  entered  the  richly 
carpeted  room,  and  he  went  to  a  curious  old  Japanese 
cabinet,  and  after  opening  various  doors  and  divi- 


180 


MR.  ISAACS. 


sions,  showed  a  small  iron  safe.  This  he  opened  by 
some  means  known  to  himself,  for  he  used  no  key, 
and  he  took  out  a  small  vessel  of  jade  and  brought  it 
to  the  light.  “Now,”  he  said,  “be  good  enough  to 
warm  this  little  jar  in  your  hands  while  I  go  into  the 
next  room  and  get  my  boots  and  spurs  and  things  oif. 
But  do  not  open  it  on  any  account  —  not  on  any 
account,  until  I  come  back,”  he  added  very  emphati¬ 
cally. 

“All  right,  go  ahead,”  said  I,  and  began  to  warm 
the  cold  thing  that  felt  like  a  piece  of  ice  between 
my  hands.  He  returned  in  a  few  minutes  robed  in 
loose  garments  from  Kashmir,  with  the  low  Eastern 
slippers  he  generally  wore  indoors.  He  sat  down 
among  his  cushions  and  leaned  back,  looking  pale 
and  tired;  after  ordering  the  lamps  to  be  lit  and  the 
doors  closed,  he  motioned  me  to  sit  down  beside  him. 

“I  have  had  a  bad  shaking,”  he  said,  “and  my 
head  is  a  good  deal  bruised.  But  I  mean  to  go  to¬ 
morrow  in  spite  of  everything.  In  that  little  vial 
there  is  a  powerful  remedy  unknown  in  your  West¬ 
ern  medicine.  Now  I  want  you  to  apply  it,  and  to 
follow  with  the  utmost  exactness  my  instructions. 
If  you  fear  you  should  forget  what  I  tell  you,  write 
it  down,  for  a  mistake  might  be  fatal  to  you,  and 
would  certainly  be  fatal  to  me.” 

I  took  out  an  old  letter  and  a  pencil,  not  daring  to 
trust  my  memory. 

“Put  the  vial  in  your  bosom  while  you  write:  it 
must  be  near  the  temperature  of  the  body.  Now 


MB.  ISAACS. 


181 


listen  to  me.  In  that  silver  box  is  wax.  Tie  first 
this  piece  of  silk  over  your  mouth,  and  then  stop 
your  nostrils  carefully  with  the  wax.  Then  open 
the  vial  quickly  and  pour  a  little  of  the  contents  into 
your  hand.  You  must  he  quick,  for  it  is  very  vola¬ 
tile.  Rub  that  on  the  hack  of  my  head,  keeping  the 
vial  closed.  When  your  hand  is  dry,  hold  the  vial 
open  to  my  nostrils  for  two  minutes  by  your  watch. 
By  that  time,  I  shall  be  asleep.  Put  the  vial  in 
this  pocket  of  my  caftan ;  open  all  the  doors  and 
windows,  and  tell  my  servant  to  leave  them  so,  but 
not  to  admit  any  one.  Then  you  can  leave  me;  I 
shall  sleep  very  comfortably.  Come  back  and  wake 
me  a  little  before  midnight.  You  will  wake  me 
easily  by  lifting  my  head  and  pressing  one  of  my 
hands.  Remember,  if  you  should  forget  to  wake 
me,  and  I  should  still  be  asleep  at  one  o’clock,  I 
should  never  open  my  eyes  again,  and  should  be 
dead  before  morning.  Do  as  I  tell  you,  for  friend¬ 
ship’s  sake,  and  when  I  wake  I  shall  bathe  and 
sleep  naturally  the  rest  of  the  night.” 

I  carefully  fulfilled  his  instructions.  Before  I 
had  finished  rubbing  his  head  he  was  drowsy,  and 
when  I  took  the  vial  from  his  nostrils  he  was  sound 
asleep.  I  placed  the  precious  thing  where  he  had 
told  me,  and  arranged  his  limbs  on  the  cushions. 
Then  I  opened  everything,  and  leaving  the  servant 
in  charge  went  my  way  to  my  rooms.  On  removing 
the  silk  and  the  wax  which  had  protected  me  from 
the  powerful  drug,  an  indescribable  odour  which 


182 


MR.  ISAACS. 


permeated  my  clothes  ascended  to  my  nostrils ;  aro¬ 
matic,  yet  pungent  and  penetrating.  I  never  smelt 
anything  that  it  reminded  me  of,  but  I  presume  the 
compound  contained  something  of  the  nature  of  an 
opiate.  I  took  some  hooks  down  to  Isaacs’  rooms 
and  passed  the  evening  there,  unwilling  to  leave  him 
to  the  care  of  an  inquisitive  servant,  and  five  minutes 
before  midnight  I  awoke  him  in  the  manner  he  had 
directed.  He  seemed  to  be  sleeping  lightly,  for  he 
was  awake  in  a  moment,  and  his  first  action  was  to 
replace  the  vial  in  the  curious  safe.  He  professed 
himself  perfectly  restored;  and,  indeed,  on  examin¬ 
ing  his  bruise  I  found  there  was  no  swelling  or  inflam¬ 
mation.  The  odour  of  the  medicament,  which,  as 
he  had  said,  seemed  to  be  very  volatile,  had  almost 
entirely  disappeared.  He  begged  me  to  go  to  bed, 
saying  that  he  would  bathe  and  then  do  likewise, 
and  I  left  him  for  the  night ;  speculating  on  the  nature 
of  this  secret  and  precious  remedy. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


183 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Himalayan  tonga  is  a  thing  of  delight.  It  is 
easily  described,  for  in  principle  it  is  the  ancient 
Persian  war-chariot,  though  the  accommodation  is 
so  modified  as  to  allow  four  persons  to  sit  in  it  back 
to  back;  that  is,  three  besides  the  driver.  It  is  built 
for  great  strength,  the  wheels  being  enormously 
heavy,  and  the  pole  of  the  size  of  a  mast.  Harness 
the  horses  have  none,  save  a  single  belt  with  a  sort 
of  lock  at  the  top,  which  fits  into  the  iron  yoke 
through  the  pole,  and  can  slide  from  it  to  the 
extremity;  there  is  neither  breeching  nor  trace  nor 
collar,  and  the  reins  run  from  the  heavy  curb  bit 
directly  through  loops  on  the  yoke  to  the  driver’s 
hands.  The  latter,  a  wiry,  long-bearded  Mohamme¬ 
dan,  is  armed  with  a  long  whip  attached  to  a  short 
thick  stock,  and  though  he  sits  low,  on  the  same 
level  as  the  passenger  beside  him  on  the  front  seat, 
he  guides  his  half  broken  horses  with  amazing  dex¬ 
terity  round  sharp  curves  and  by  giddy  precipices, 
where  neither  parapet  nor  fencing  give  the  startled 
mind  even  a  momentary  impression  of  security.  The 
road  from  Simla  to  Kalka  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  is 
so  narrow  that  if  two  vehicles  meet,  the  one  has  to 


184 


MR.  ISAACS. 


draw  up  to  the  edge  of  the  road,  while  the  other 
passes  on  its  way.  In  view  of  the  frequent  encoun¬ 
ters,  every  tonga-driver  is  provided  with  a  post  horn 
of  tremendous  power  and  most  discordant  harmony ; 
for  the  road  is  covered  with  bullock  carts  bearing 
provisions  and  stores  to  the  hill  station.  Smaller 
loads,  such  as  trunks  and  other  luggage,  are  gener¬ 
ally  carried  by  coolies,  who  follow  a  shorter  path, 
the  carriage  road  being  ninety- two  miles  from  Um- 
balla,  the  railroad  station,  to  Simla,  but  a  certain 
amount  may  be  stowed  away  in  the  tonga,  of  which 
the  capacity  is  considerable. 

In  three  of  these  vehicles  our  party  of  six  began 
the  descent  on  Tuesday  morning,  wrapped  in  linen 
“  dusters  ”  of  various  shades  and  shapes,  and  armed 
with  countless  varieties  of  smoking  gear.  The 
roughness  of  the  road  precludes  all  possibility  of 
reading,  and,  after  all,  the  rapid  motion  and  the  con¬ 
stant  appearance  of  danger  —  which  in  reality  does 
not  exist  —  prevent  any  overpowering  ennui  from 
assailing  the  dusty  traveller.  So  we  spun  along  all 
day,  stopping  once  or  twice  for  a  little  refreshment, 
and  changing  horses  every  five  or  six  miles.  Every¬ 
body  was  in  capital  spirits,  and  we  changed  seats 
often,  thus  obtaining  some  little  variety.  Isaacs, 
who  to  every  one’s  astonishment,  seemed  not  to  feel 
any  inconvenience  from  his  accident,  clung  to  his 
seat  in  Miss  Westonhaugh’s  tonga,  sitting  in  front 
with  the  driver,  while  she  and  her  uncle  or  brother 
occupied  the  seat  behind,  which  is  far  more  comfort- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


185 


able.  At  last,  however,  lie  was  obliged  to  give  bis 
place  to  Kildare,  wlio  bad  been  very  patient,  but  at 
last  said  it  “really  wasn’t  fair,  you  know,”  and  so 
Isaacs  courteously  yielded.  At  last  we  readied 
Kalka,  where  the  tongas  are  exchanged  for  dak 
gliarry  or  mail  carriage,  a  thing  in  which  you  can 
sit  up  in  the  daytime  and  lie  down  at  night,  there 
being  an  extension  under  the  driver’s  box  calculated 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  longest  leg’s.  When 
lying  down  in  one  of  these  vehicles  the  sensation  is 
that  of  being  in  a  hearse  and  playing  a  game  of 
funeral.  On  this  occasion,  however,  it  was  still 
early  when  we  made  the  change,  and  we  paired  off, 
two  and  two,  for  the  last  part  of  the  drive.  By  the 
well  planned  arrangements  of  Isaacs  and  Kildare, 
two  carriages  were  in  readiness  for  us  on  the  express 
train,  and  though  the  difference  in  temperature  was 
enormous  between  Simla  and  the  plains,  still  steam¬ 
ing  from  the  late  rainy  season,  the  travelling  was 
made  easy  for  us,  and  we  settled  ourselves  for  the 
journey,  after  dining  at  the  little  hotel;  Miss  Wes- 
tonliaugh  bidding  us  all  a  cheery  “good-night”  as 
she  retired  with  her  ayah  into  the  carriage  prepared 
for  her.  I  will  not  go  into  tedious  details  of  the 
journey  —  we  slept  and  woke  and  slept  again,  and 
smoked,  and  occasionally  concocted  iced  drinks  from 
our  supplies,  for  in  India  the  carriages  are  so  large 
that  the  traveller  generally  provides  himself  with  a 
generous  basket  of  provisions  and  a  travelling  ice- 
cliest  full  of  bottles,  and  takes  a  trunk  or  two  with 


186 


MR.  ISAACS. 


him  in  liis  compartment.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  we 
arrived  on  the  following  day  at  Fyzabad  in  Onde, 
and  that  we  were  there  met  by  guides  and  shikarries 
• —  the  native  huntsmen  —  who  assured  us  that  there 
were  tigers  about  near  the  outlying  station  of  Peg- 
nugger,  where  the  elephants,  previously  ordered, 
would  all  be  in  readiness  for  us  on  the  following  day. 
The  journey  from  Fyzabad  to  Pegnugger  was  not  a 
long  one,  and  we  set  out  in  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
sending  our  servants  along  in  that  “happy-go-lucky  ” 
fashion  which  characterises  Indian  life.  It  has 
always  been  a  mystery  to  me  how  native  servants 
manage  always  to  turn  up  at  the  right  moment.  You 
say  to  your  man,  “Go  there  and  wait  for  me,”  and 
you  arrive  and  find  him  waiting;  though  how  he 
transferred  himself  thither,  with  his  queer-looking 
bundle,  and  his  lota,  and  cooking  utensils,  and  your 
best  teapot  wrapped  up  in  a  newsjiaper  and  ready  for 
use,  and  with  all  the  other  hundred  and  one  things 
that  a  native  servant  contrives  to  carry  about  with¬ 
out  breaking  or  losing  one  of  them,  is  an  unsolved 
puzzle.  Yet  there  he  is,  clean  and  grinning  as  ever, 
and  if  he  were  not  clean  and  grinning  and  provided 
with  tea  and  cheroots,  you  would  not  keep  him  in 
your  service  a  day,  though  you  would  be  incapable 
of  looking  half  so  spotless  and  pleased  under  the 
same  circumstances  yourself. 

On  the  following  day,  therefore,  we  found  our¬ 
selves  at  Pegnugger,  surrounded  by  shikarries  and 
provided  with  every  instrument  of  the  chase  that  the 


MR.  ISAACS. 


187 


ingenuity  of  man  and  the  foresight  of  Isaacs  and 
Ghyrkins  could  provide.  There  were  numbers  of 
tents,  sleeping  tents,  cooking  tents,  and  servants’ 
tents ;  guns  and  ammunition  of  every  calibre  likely 
to  be  useful;  kookries ,  broad  strong  weapons  not 
unlike  the  famous  American  bowie  knives  (which 
are  all  made  in  Sheffield,  to  the  honour,  glory,  and 
gain,  of  British  trade);  there  were  huge  packs  of 
provisions  edible  and  potable;  baskets  of  utensils 
for  the  kitchen  and  the  table,  and  piles  of  blankets 
and  tenting  gear  for  the  camp.  There  was  also  the 
little  collector  of  Pegnugger,  whose  small  body 
housed  a  stout  heart,  for  he  had  shot  tigers  on  foot 
before  now  in  company  with  a  certain  German  doctor 
of  undying  sporting  fame,  whose  big  round  spectacles 
seemed  to  direct  his  bullets  with  unerring  precision. 
But  the  doctor  was  not  here  now,  and  so  the  sturdy 
Englishman  condescended  to  accept  a  seat  in  the 
howdah,  and  to  kill  his  game  with  somewhat  less 
risk  than  usual. 

This  first  day  was  occupied  in  transferring  our 
party,  now  swelled  by  countless  beaters  and  numer¬ 
ous  huntsmen,  not  to  mention  all  the  retinue  of 
servants  necessary  for  an  Indian  camp,  to  the  neigh¬ 
bourhood  of  the  battlefield.  There  is  not  much  con¬ 
versation  on  these  occasions,  for  the  party  is  apt  to 
become  scattered,  and  there  is  a  general  tone  of 
expectancy  in  the  air,  the  old  hands  conversing  more 
with  the  natives  who  know  the  district  than  with 
each  other,  and  the  young  ones  either  wondering  how 


188 


MR.  ISAACS. 


many  tigers  they  will  kill,  or  listening  open  mouthed 
to  the  tales  of  adventure  reeled  off  by  the  yard  by  the 
old  bearded  shikarry,  who  has  slain  the  king  of  the 
jungle  with  a  kookrie  in  hand  to  hand  struggle  when 
he  was  young,  and  bears  the  scars  of  the  deadly 
encounter  on  his  brown  chest  to  this  day.  Old 
Ghyrkins,  who  was  evidently  in  his  element,  rode 
about  on  a  little  tat ,  questioning  beaters  and  shikar- 
ries,  and  coming  back  every  now  and  then  to  bawl  up 
some  piece  of  information  to  the  little  collector,  who 
had  established  himself  on  one  of  the  elephants  and 
looked  down  over  the  edge  of  the  liowdali,  the  great 
pith  hat  on  his  head  making  him  look  like  an 
immense  mushroom  with  a  very  thin  stem  sprouting 
suddenly  from  the  back  of  the  huge  beast.  He 
smiled  pleasantly  at  the  old  sportsman  from  his  ele¬ 
vation,  and  seemed  to  know  all  about  it.  It  so 
chanced  that  when  he  received  Isaacs’  telegrams  he 
had  been  planning  a  little  excursion  on  his  own 
account,  and  had  been  sending  out  scouts  and  beaters 
for  some  days  to  ascertain  where  the  game  lay.  This, 
of  course,  was  so  much  clear  gain  to  us,  and  the 
little  man  was  delighted  at  the  opportune  coinci¬ 
dence  which  enabled  him,  by  the  unlimited  money 
supplied,  to  join  in  such  a  hunt  as  he  had  not  seen 
since  the  time  when  the  Prince  of  Wales  disported 
himself  among  the  royal  game,  three  years  before. 
As  for  Miss  Westonliaugh,  she  was  in  the  gayest  of 
spirits,  as  she  sat  with  her  brother  on  an  elephant’s 
back,  while  Isaacs,  who  loved  the  saddle,  circled 


MR.  ISAACS. 


189 


round  lier  and  kept  up  a  fire  of  little  compliments 
and  pretty  speeches,  to  which  she  was  fast  becoming 
inured.  Kildare  and  I  followed  them  closely  on 
another  elephant,  discoursing  seriously  about  the 
hunt,  and  occasionally  shouting  some  question  to 
John  Westonhaugh,  ahead,  about  sport  in  the  south. 

Before  evening  we  had  arrived  at  our  first  camping 
ground,  near  a  small  village  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
jungle,  and  the  tents  were  pitched  on  a  little  eleva¬ 
tion  covered  with  grass,  now  green  and  waving. 
The  men  had  mowed  a  patch  clear,  and  were  busy 
with  the  pegs  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  a  canvas 
house,  and  we  strolled  about,  some  of  us  directing 
the  operations,  others  offering  a  sacrifice  of  cooling 
liquids  and  tobacco  to  the  setting  sun.  Miss  Wes¬ 
tonhaugh  had  heard  about  living  in  tents  ever  since 
she  came  to  India,  and  had  often  longed  to  sleep  in 
one  of  those  temporary  chambers  that  are  set  up  any¬ 
where  in  the  “compound”  of  an  English  bungalow 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  bachelor  guests  whom 
the  house  itself  is  too  small  to  hold ;  now  she  was 
enchanted  at  the  prospect  of  a  whole  fortnight  under 
canvas,  and  watched  with  rapt  interest  the  driving 
of  the  pegs,  the  raising  of  the  poles,  and  the  careful 
furnishing  of  her  dwelling.  There  was  a  carpet, 
and  armchairs,  and  tables,  and  even  a  small  book¬ 
case  with  a  few  favourite  volumes.  To  us  in  civi¬ 
lised  life  it  seems  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  transport 

i 

a  lunch  basket  and  a  novel  to  some  shady  glen  to 
enjoy  a  day’s  rest  in  the  open  air,  and  we  would 


190 


MR.  ISAACS. 


almost  rather  starve  than  take  the  trouble  to  carry 
provisions.  In  India  you  speak  the  word,  and  as  by 
magic  there  arises  in  the  wilderness  a  little  village 
of  tents,  furnished  with  every  necessary  luxury  — 
and  the  luxuries  necessary  to  our  degenerate  age  are 
many  —  a  kitchen  tent  is  raised,  and  a  skilled  dark- 
skinned  artist  provides  you  in  an  hour  with  a  dinner 
such  as  you  could  eat  in  no  hotel.  The  treasures  of 
the  huge  portable  ice-chest  reveal  cooling  wines  and 
soda  water  to  the  thirsty  soul,  and  if  you  are  going 
very  far  beyond  the  reach  of  the  large  towns,  a  small 
ice-machine  is  kept  at  work  day  and  night  to  increase 
the  supply  while  you  sleep,  and  to  maintain  it  while 
you  wake.  In  the  conndt  or  verandah  of  the  tent, 
long  chairs  await  you  after  your  meal,  and  as  you 
smoke  the  fragrant  cigarette  and  watch  the  stars 
coming  out,  you  feel  as  comfortable  as  though  you 
had  been  dining  in  your  own  spacious  bungalow  in 
Mudnugger. 

It  was  not  long  before  all  was  ready,  and  having 
made  many  ablutions  and  a  little  toilet,  we  assem¬ 
bled  round  the  dinner  table  in  the  eating  tent, 
the  same  party  that  had  dined  at  Mr.  Currie  Ghyr- 
kins’  house  on  Sunday  night,  with  the  addition  of 
the  little  collector  of  Pegnugger,  whose  stories  of  his 
outlying  district  were  full  of  humour  and  anecdote. 
The  talk  bending  in  the  direction  of  adventure,  Kil¬ 
dare,  who  had  been  lately  in  South  Africa  with  his 
regiment,  told  some  tales  of  Zulus  and  assegais  and 
Boers  in  the  Hibernian  style  of  hyperbole.  The 


MR.  ISAACS. 


191 


Irish  blood  never  conies  out  so  strongly  as  when  a 
story  is  to  be  told,  and  no  amount  of  English  educa¬ 
tion  and  Oxford  accent  will  suppress  the  tendency. 
The  brogue  is  gone,  but  the  love  of  the  marvellous 
is  there  still.  Isaacs  related  the  experience  of  “a 
man  he  knew,”  who  had  been  pulled  off  his  elephant, 
liowdah  and  all,  and  had  killed  the  tiger  with  a 
revolver  at  half  arm’s  length. 

“Ah  yes,”  said  the  little  collector,  who  had  not 
caught  the  names  of  all  the  party  when  introduced, 
“  I  read  about  it  at  the  time ;  I  remember  it  very  well. 
It  happened  in  Purneah  two  years  ago.  The  gentle¬ 
man  was  a  Mr.  Isaacs  of  Delhi.  Queer  name  too  — 
remember  perfectly.”  There  was  a  roar  of  laughter 
at  this,  in  which  the  collector  joined  vociferously  on 
being  informed  that  the  man  with  the  “queer  name  ” 
was  his  neighbour  at  table. 

“You  see  what  you  get  for  your  modesty,”  cried 
old  Ghyrkins,  laughing  to  convulsions. 

“And  is  it  really  true,  Mr.  Isaacs?”  asked  Miss 
Westonhaugh,  looking  admiringly  across  at  the  young 
man,  who  seemed  rather  annoyed. 

And  so  the  conversation  went  round  and  all  were 
merry,  and  some  were  sleepy  after  dinner,  and  we 
sat  in  long  chairs  under  the  awning  or  connat. 
There  was  no  moon  yet,  but  the  stars  shone  out  as 
they  shine  nowhere  save  in  India,  and  the  evening 
breeze  played  pleasantly  through  the  ropes  after  the 
long  hot  day.  Miss  Westonhaugh  assured  every¬ 
body  for  the  hundredth  time  that  day  that  she  rather 


192 


MR.  ISAACS. 


liked  tlie  smell  of  cigars,  and  so  we  smoked  and 
chatted  a  little,  and  presently  there  was  a  jerk  and 
a  sputtering  sneeze  from  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  who,  being 
weary  with  the  march  and  the  heat  and  the  good 
dinner,  and  on  the  borders  of  sleep,  had  put  the 
wrong  end  of  his  cigar  in  his  mouth  with  destructive 
results.  Then  he  threw  it  away  with  a  small  volley 
of  harmless  expletiyes,  and  swore  he  would  go  to 
bed,  as  he  could  not  stand  our  dulness  any  longer; 
but  he  merely  shifted  his  position  a  little,  and  was 
soon  snoring  merrily. 

“What  a  pity  it  is  we  have  no  piano,  Katharine,” 
said  John  Westonhaugli,  who  was  fond  of  music. 
“  Could  you  not  sing  something  without  any  accom¬ 
paniment  ?  ” 

“Oh  no.  Mr.  Isaacs,”  she  said,  turning  her  voice 
to  where  she  could  see  the  light  of  his  cigarette  and 
the  faint  outline  of  his  chair  in  the  starlight,  “here 
we  are  in  the  camp.  Now  where  is  the  4  lute  ’  you 
promised  to  produce  for  us  ?  I  think  the  time  has 
come  at  last  for  }rou  to  keep  your  promise.” 

“Well,”  said  he,  “I  believe  there  really  is  an  old 
guitar  or  something  of  the  kind  among  my  traps 
somewhere.  But  it  might  wake  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  who, 
I  understand  from  his  tones,  is  asleep.” 

Various  opinions  were  expressed  to  the  effect  that 
Mr.  Ghyrkins  was  not  so  easily  disturbed,  and  a 
voice  like  Kildare’s  was  heard  to  mumble  that  “it 
would  not  hurt  him  if  he  was,”  a  sentence  no  one 
attempted  to  construe,  So  the  faithful  Narain  was 


MR.  ISAACS. 


193 


summoned,  and  instructed  to  bring  the  instrument  if 
he  could  find  it.  I  was  rather  surprised  at  Isaacs’ 
readiness  to  sing;  but  in  the  first  place  I  had  never 
heard  him,  and  besides  I  did  not  make  allowance  for 
the  Oriental  courtesy  of  his  character,  which  would 
not  refuse  anything,  or  make  any  show  of  refusal  in 
order  to  be  pressed.  Narain  returned  with  a  very 
modern-looking  guitar-case,  and,  opening  the  box, 
presented  his  master  with  the  instrument,  which,  as 
Isaacs  took  it  to  the  light  in  the  door  of  the  tent  to 
see  if  it  had  travelled  safely,  appeared  to  be  a  per¬ 
fectly  new  German  guitar.  I  suspected  him  of  hav¬ 
ing  purchased  it  at  the  little  music  shop  at  Simla, 
for  the  especial  amusement  of  our  party. 

“I  thought  it  was  a  lute  you  played  on,”  said  Miss 
W estonhaugh,  “  a  real,  lovely,  ancient  Assyrian  lute, 
or  something  of  that  kind.” 

“  Oh,  a  plain  guitar  is  infinitely  better  and  less 
troublesome,”  said  Isaacs  as  he  returned  to  his  seat 
in  the  dark  and  began  to  tune  the  strings  softly.  t 
“  It  takes  so  long  to  tune  one  of  those  old  things, 
and  then  nothing  will  make  them  stand.  Now  this 
one,  you  see,  —  or  rather  you  cannot  see,  —  has  an 
ingenious  contrivance  of  screws  by  which  you  may 
tune  it  in  a  moment.”  While  he  was  speaking  he 
was  altering  the  pitch  of  the  strings,  and  presently 
he  added,  “There,  it  is  done  now,”  and  two  or  three 
sounding  chords  fell  on  the  still  air.  “Now  what 
shall  I  sing?  I  await  your  commands.” 

“Something  soft,  and  sweet,  and  gentle.” 


o 


194 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“A  love-song?”  asked  he  quietly. 

“  Well  yes  —  a  love-song  if  you  like.  Why  not  ?  ” 
said  she. 

“No  reason  in  the  world  that  I  can  think  of,”  I 
remarked.  Whereat  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare  threw 
his  cigar  away,  and  began  lighting  another  a  moment 
after,  as  if  he  had  discarded  his  weed  by  mistake. 

Isaacs  struck  a  few  chords  softly,  and  then  began 
a  sort  of  running  accompaniment.  His  voice,  which 
seemed  to  me  to  be  very  high,  was  wonderfully  smooth 
and  round,  and  produced  the  impression  of  being 
much  more  powerful  than  he  cared  to  show.  He 
sang  without  the  least  effort,  and  yet  there  was  none 
of  that  effeminate  character  that  I  have  noticed  in 
European  male  singers  when  producing  high  notes 
very  softly.  I  do  not  understand  music,  but  I  am 
sure  I  never  heard  an  opera  tenor  with  a  voice  of 
such  quality.  The  words  of  his  song  were  Persian, 
and  the  pure  accents  of  his  native  tongue  seemed 
well  suited  to  the  half  passionate,  half  plaintive  air 
he  had  chosen.  I  afterwards  found  a  translation  of 
the  sonnet  by  an  English  officer,  which  I  here  give, 
though  it  conveys  little  idea  of  the  music  of  the 
original  verse. 

Last  night,  my  eyes  being  closed  in  sleep,  but  my  good  fortune  awake, 
The  whole  night,  the  livelong  night,  the  image  of  my  beloved  one  was 
the  companion  of  my  soul. 

The  sweetness  of  her  melodious  voice  still  remains  vibrating  on  my 
soul ; 

Heavens  !  how  did  the  sugared  words  fall  from  her  sweeter  lips  ; 
Alas  !  all  that  she  said  to  me  in  that  dream  has  escaped  from  my 
memory, 


MR.  ISAACS. 


195 


Although  it  was  my  care  till  break  of  day  to  repeat  over  and  over 
her  sweet  words. 

The  day,  unless  illuminated  by  her  beauty,  is,  to  my  eyes,  of  noc¬ 
turnal  darkness. 

Happy  day  that  first  I  gazed  upon  that  lovely  face  ! 

May  the  eyes  of  Jami  long  be  blessed  with  pleasing  visions,  since 
they  presented  to  his  view  last  night 
The  object,  on  whose  account  he  passed  his  waking  life  in  expec¬ 
tation.1 

His  beautiful  voice  ceased,  and  with  infinite  skill 
he  wove  a  few  strains  of  the  melody  into  the  final 
chords  he  played  when  he  had  finished  singing.  It 
was  all  so  entirely  novel,  so  unlike  any  music  most 
of  us  had  ever  heard,  and  it  was  so  undeniably  good, 
that  every  one  applauded  and  said  something  to  the 
singer  in  turn,  expressing  the  greatest  admiration 
and  appreciation.  Miss  Westonhaugli  was  the  last 
to  speak. 

“  It  is  perfectly  lovely,”  she  said.  “ I  wish  I  could 
understand  the  words  —  are  they  as  sweet  as  the 

•  Q 

music c 

“Sweeter,”  he  answered,  and  he  gave  an  offhand 
translation  of  two  or  three  verses. 

“Beautiful  indeed,”  she  said;  “and  now  sing  me 
another,  please.”  There  was  no  resisting  such  an 
appeal,  with  the  personal  pronoun  in  the  singular 
number.  He  moved  a  little  nearer,  and  emphatically 
sang  to  her,  and  to  no  one  else.  A  song  of  the  same 
character  as  the  first,  but,  I  thought,  more  passionate 
and  less  dreamy,  as  his  great  sweet  voice  swelled 
and  softened  and  rose  again  in  burning  vibrations 


1  Sir  Gore  Ousely,  Notices  of  the  Persian  Poets. 


196 


MR.  ISAACS. 


and  waves  of  sound.  She  did  not  ask  a  translation 
this  time,  hut  some  one  else  did,  after  the  applause 
had  subsided. 

“I  cannot  translate  these  things,”  said  Isaacs,  “so 
as  to  do  them  justice,  or  give  you  any  idea  of  the 
strength  and  vitality  of  the  Persian  verses.  Perhaps 
Griggs,  who  understands  Persian  very  well  and  is  a 
literary  man,  may  do  it  for  you.  I  would  rather  not 
try.”  I  professed  my  entire  inability  to  comply  with 
the  request,  and  to  turn  the  conversation  asked  him 
where  he  had  learned  to  play  the  guitar  so  well. 

“Oli,”  he  answered,  “in  Istamboul,  years  ago. 
Everybody  plays  in  Istamboul  —  and  most  people 
sing  love-songs.  Besides  it  is  so  easy,”  and  he  ran 
scales  up  and  down  the  strings  with  marvellous 
rapidity  to  illustrate-  what  he  said. 

“  And  do  you  never  sing  English  songs,  Mr. 
Isaacs?”  asked  the  collector  of  Pegnugger,  who  was 
enchanted,  not  having  heard  a  note  of  music  for 
months. 

“Oh,  sometimes,”  he  answered.  “I  think  I  could 
sing  ‘Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes’ — do  you 
know  it?”  He  began  to  play  the  melody  on  the 
guitar  while  lie  spoke. 

“Rather  —  I  should  think  so!  ”  Kildare  was  heard 
to  say.  He  was  beginning  to  think  the  concert  had 
lasted  long  enough. 

“Oh,  do  sing  it,  Mr.  Isaacs,”  said  the  young  girl, 
“  and  my  brother  and  I  will  join  in.  It  will  be  so 
pretty!  ” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


197 


It  certainly  sounded  very  sweetly  as  he  gave  the 
melody  in  his  clear,  high  tones,  and  Miss  Weston  - 
haugh  and  John  sang  with  him.  Having  heard  it 
several  thousand  times  myself,  I  was  beginning  to 
recognise  the  tune  well  enough  to  enjoy  it  a  good 
deal. 

“That  is  very  nice,”  said  Kildare,  who  was  sorry 
he  had  made  an  impatient  remark  before,  and  wanted 
to  atone. 

“Eh?  what?  how’s  that?”  said  Mr.  Ghyrkins  just 
waking  up.  “  Oh !  of  course.  My  niece  sings  charm¬ 
ingly.  Quite  an  artist,  you  know.”  And  he  strug¬ 
gled  out  of  his  chair  and  said  it  Avas  high  time  Ave  all 
Avent  to  bed  if  Ave  meant  to  shoot  straight  in  the 
morning.  The  magistrate  of  Pegnugger  concurred 
in  the  opinion,  and  Ave  reluctantly  separated  for  the 
night  to  our  respective  quarters,  Isaacs  and  I  occupy¬ 
ing  a  tent  together,  which  he  had  caused  to  be  sent 
on  from  Delhi,  as  being  especially  adapted  to  his 
comfort. 

On  the  folloAving  day  at  dawn  Ave  were  roused  by 
the  sound  of  preparations,  and  before  Ave  Avere  dressed 
the  voices  of  Mr.  Currie  Gliyrkius  and  the  collector 
Avere  heard  in  the  camp,  stirring  up  the  sleepy  ser¬ 
vants  and  ordering  us  to  be  waked.  The  tAvo  old 
sportsmen  felt  it  their  duty  to  be  first  on  such  an 
occasion  as  this,  and  in  the  calm  security  that  they 
Avould  do  everything  that  Avas  right,  Isaacs  and  I  dis¬ 
cussed  our  tea  and  fruit  —  the  chota  haziri  or  “  little 
breakfast  ”  usually  taken  in  India  on  waking  —  sit- 


198 


MR.  ISAACS. 


ting  in  tlie  door  of  our  tent,  while  Kiramat  Ali  and 
Narain  and  Mahmoud  and  the  rest  of  the  servants 
were  giving  a  final  rub  to  the  weapons  of  the  chase, 
and  making  all  the  little  preparations  for  a  long  day. 
And  we  sat  looking  out  and  sipping  our  tea. 

In  the  cool  of  the  dawn  Miss  Westonhaugh  came 
tripping  across  the  wet  grass  to  where  her  uncle  was 
giving  his  final  directions  about  the  furnishing  of 
his  liowdah  for  the  day ;  a  lovely  apparition  of  fresh¬ 
ness  in  the  gray  morning,  all  dressed  in  dark  blue,  a 
light  pith  helmet-shaped,  hat  pressing  the  rebellious 
white-gold  hair  almost  out  of  sight.  She  walked  so 
easily  it  seemed  as  if  her  dainty  little  feet  had  wings, 
as  Hermes’  of  old,  to  ease  the  ground  of  their  feather 
weight.  A  broad  belt  hung  across  her  shoulder  with 
little  rows  of  cartridges  set  all  along,  and  at  the  end 
hung  a  very  business-like  revolver  case  of  brown 
leather  and  of  goodly  length.  No  toy  miniature 
pistol  would  she  carry,  but  a  full-sized,  heavy  “six- 
shooter,”  that  might  really  be  of  use  at  close  quar¬ 
ters.  She  stood  some  minutes  talking  with  Mr. 
Ghyrkins,  not  noticing  us  in  the  shadow  of  the  tent 
some  thirty  yards  aAvay;  Isaacs  and  I  watched  her 
intently  —  with  very  different  feelings,  possibly,  but 
yet  intensely  admiring  the  fair  creature,  so  strong 
and  pliant,  and  yet  so  erect  and  straight.  She  turned 
half  round  towards  us,  and  I  saw  there  were  flowers 
in  the  front  of  her  dress.  I  wondered  where  they 
had  come  from ;  they  were  roses  — •  of  all  flowers  in 
the  world  to  be  blooming  in  the  desert.  Perhaps  she 


MR.  ISAACS. 


199 


had  brought  them  carefully  from  Fyzabad,  but  that 
was  improbable;  or  from  Pegnugger — 'yes,  there 
would  be  roses  in  the  collector’s  garden  there. 
Isaacs  rose  to  his  feet. 

“  Oh,  come  along,  Griggs.  You  have  had  quite 
enough  tea!  ” 

“Go  ahead;  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment.” 
But  a  sudden  thought  struck  me,  and  I  went  with 
him,  bareheaded,  to  greet  Miss  Westonhaugh.  She 
smiled  brightly  as  she  held  out  her  hand. 

“  Good  morning,  Mr.  Isaacs.  Thank  you  so  much 
for  the  roses.  How  did  you  do  it?  They  are  too 
lovely!”  So  it  was  just  as  I  thought.  Isaacs  had 
probably  despatched  a  man  back  to  Pegnugger  in  the 
night. 

“Very  easy  I  assure  you.  I  am  so  glad  you  like 
them.  They  are  not  very  fresh  after  all  though,  I 
see,”  he  added  depreciatingly,  as  men  do  when  they 
give  flowers  to  people  they  care  about.  I  never  heard 
a  man  find  fault  with  flowers  he  gave  out  of  a  sense 
of  duty.  It  is  perhaps  that  the  woman  best  loved  of 
all  things  in  the  world  has  for  him  a  sweetness  and  a 
beauty  that  kills  the  coarser  hues  of  the  rose,  and 
outvies  the  fragrance  of  the  double  violets. 

“Oh  no!”  she  said,  emphasising  the  negative 
vigorously.  “  I  think  they  are  perfectly  beautiful, 
but  I  want  you  to  tell  me  where  you  got  them.”  1 
began  talking  to  Ghyrkins,  who  was  intent  on  the 
arrangement  of  his  guns  which  was  going  on  under 
his  eyes,  but  I  heard  the  answer,  though  Isaacs  spoke 
in  a  low  voice. 


200 


ME,.  ISAACS. 


“  You  must  not  say  that,  Miss  W estonhaugh.  You 
yourself  are  the  most  perfect  and  beautiful  thing  God 
ever  made.”  By  a  superhuman  effort  I  succeeded  in 
keeping  my  eyes  fixed  on  Ghyrkins,  probably  with  a 
stony,  unconscious  stare,  for  he  presently  asked 
what  I  was  looking  at.  I  do  not  think  Isaacs  cared 
whether  I  heard  him  or  not,  knowing  that  I  sympa¬ 
thised,  but  Mr.  Ghyrkins  was  another  matter.  The 
Persian  had  made  progress,  for  there  was  no  trace  of 
annoyance  in  Miss  W estonhaugh ’s  answer,  though 
she  entirely  overlooked  her  companion’s  pretty  speech. 

“Seriously,  Mr.  Isaacs,  if  you  mean  to  have  one 
of  them  for  your  badge  to-day,  you  must  tell  me  how 
you  got  them.”  I  turned  slowly  round.  She  was 
holding  a  single  rose  in  her  fingers,  and  looking  from 
it  to  him,  as  if  to  see  if  it  would  match  his  olive  skin 
and  his  Karkee  shooting-coat.  He  could  not  resist 
the  bribe. 

“If  you  really  want  to  know  I  will  tell  you,  but 
it  is  a  profound  secret,”  he  said,  smiling.  “Griggs, 
swear!  ” 

I  raised  my  hand  and  murmured  something  about 
the  graves  of  my  ancestors. 

“Well,”  he  continued,  “yesterday  morning  at  the 
collector’s  house  I  saw  a  garden;  in  the  garden  there 
were  roses,  carefully  tended,  for  it  is  late.  I  took 
the  gardener  apart  and  said,  4  My  friend,  behold,  here 
is  silver  for  thee,  both  rupees  and  pais.  And  if  thou 
wilt  pick  the  best  of  thy  roses  and  deliver  them  to 
the  swift  runner  whom  I  will  send  to  thee  at  supper 


MR.  ISAACS. 


201 


time  when  the  stars  are  coming  out,  I  will  give  thee 
as  much  as  thou  shalt  earn  in  a  month  with  thy 
English  master.  But  if  thou  wilt  not  do  it,  or  if 
thou  failest  to  do  it,  having  promised,  I  will  cause 
the  grave  of  tliy  father  to  he  defiled  with  the  slaugh¬ 
ter  of  swine,  and,  moreover,  I  will  return  and  beat 
thee  with  a  thick  stick !  ’  The  fellow  was  a  Mussul¬ 
man,  and  there  was  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he 
took  the  money  and  swore  a  great  oath.  I  left  a 
running  man  at  Pegnugger  with  a  basket,  and  that  is 
how  you  got  the  roses.  Don’t  tell  the  collector,  that 
is  all.” 

We  all  laughed,  and  Miss  Westonhaugh  gave  the 
rose  to  Isaacs,  who  touched  it  to  his  lips,  under  pre¬ 
tence  of  smelling  it,  and  put  it  in  his  buttonhole. 
Kildare  came  up  at  this  moment  and  created  a  diver¬ 
sion;  then  the  collector  joined  us  and  scattered  us 
right  and  left,  saying  it  was  high  time  we  were  in  the 
howdahs  and  on  the  way.  So  we  buckled  on  our 
belts,  and  those  who  wore  hats  put  them  on,  and 
those  who  preferred  turbans  bent  while  their  bearers 
wound  them  on,  and  then  we  moved  off  to  where  the 
elephants  were  waiting  and  got  into  our  places,  and 
the  mahouts  urged  the  huge  beasts  from  their  knees  to 
their  feet,  and  we  went  swinging  off  to  the  forest. 
The  pad  elephants,  who  serve  as  beaters  and  move 
between  the  howdah  animals,  joined  us,  and  presently 
we  went  splashing  through  the  reedy  patches  of  fern, 
and  crashing  through  the  branches,  towards  the  heart 
of  the  jungle. 


202 


MR.  ISAACS. 


Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins,  whose  long  experience  had 
made  him  as  cool  when  after  tigers  as  when  reading 
the  Pioneer  in  his  shady  bungalow  at  Simla,  had 
taken  Miss  Westonhaugh  with  him  in  his  howdah, 
and  as  an  additional  precaution  for  her  safety,  the 
little  collector  of  Pegnugger,  who  was  a  dead  shot, 
only  allowed  two  pad  elephants  to  move  between 
himself  and  Ghyrkins.  As  there  were  thirty-seven 
animals  in  all,  the  rest  of  the  party  were  much  scat- 
tered.  I  thought  there  were  too  many  elephants  for 
our  six  howdalis,  but  it  turned  out  that  I  was  mis¬ 
taken,  for  we  had  capital  sport.  The  magistrate  of 
Pegnugger,  who  knew  the  country  thoroughly,  was 
made  the  despot  of  the  day.  His  orders  were  obeyed 
unquestioningly  and  unconditionally,  and  we  halted 
in  long  line  or  marched  onwards,  forcing  a  passage 
through  every  obstacle,  at  his  word.  We  might  have 
been  out  a  couple  of  hours,  watching  every  patch  of 
jungle  and  blade  of  long  rank  grass  for  a  sight  of  the 
striped  skin,  writhing  through  the  reeds,  that  we  so 
longed  to  see,  when  the  quick,  short  crack  of  a  rifle 
away  to  the  right  brought  us  to  a  halt,  and  every  one 
drew  a  long  breath  and  turned,  gun  in  hand,  in  the 
direction  whence  the  sound  had  come.  It  was  Kil¬ 
dare  ;  he  had  met  his  first  tiger,  and  the  first  also  of 
the  hunt.  He  had  put  up  the  animal  not  five  paces 
in  front  of  him,  stealing  along  in  the  cool  grass  and 
hoping  to  escape  between  the  elephants,  in  the  cun¬ 
ning  way  they  often  do.  He  had  fired  a  snap  shot 
too  quickly,  inflicting  a  wound  in  the  flank  which 


MR.  ISAACS. 


203 


only  served  to  rouse  tlie  tiger  to  madness.  With  a 
leap  that  seemed  to  raise  its  body  perpendicularly 
from  the  ground,  the  gorgeous  creature  flew  into  the 
air  and  settled  right  on  the  head  of  Kildare’s  ele¬ 
phant,  while  the  terrified  mahout  wound  himself 
round  the  liowdali.  It  would  have  been  a  trying 
position  for  the  oldest  sportsman,  hut  to  he  brought 
into  such  terrific  encounter  at  arm’s  length,  almost, 
at  one’s  very  first  experience  of  the  chase,  was  a  terri¬ 
ble  test  of  nerve.  Those  who  were  near  said  that  in 
that  awful  moment  Kildare  never  changed  colour. 
The  elephant  plunged  wildly  in  his  efforts  to  shake 
off  the  beast  from  his  head,  but  Kildare  had  seized 
his  second  gun  the  moment  he  had  discharged  the 
first,  and  aiming  for  one  second  only,  as  the  tossing 
head  and  neck  of  the  tusker  brought  the  gigantic  cat 
opposite  him,  fired  again.  The  fearful  claws,  driven 
deep  and  sure  into  the  thick  hide  of  the  poor  ele¬ 
phant,  relaxed  their  hold,  the  beautiful  lithe  limbs 
straightened  by  their  own  perpendicular  weight, 
and  the  first  prize  of  the  day  dropped  to  the  ground 
like  lead,  dead,  shot  through  the  head. 

A  great  yell  of  triumph  arose  all  along  the  line, 
and  the  little  maliout  crept  cautiously  back  from  his 
lurking-place  behind  the  howdah  to  see  if  the  coast 
were  clear.  Kildare  had  behaved  splendidly,  and 
shouts  of  congratulation  reached  his  ears  from  all 
sides.  Miss  Westonhaugli  waved  her  handkerchief 
in  token  of  approbation,  every  one  applauded,  and 
far  away  to  the  left  Isaacs,  who  was  in  the  last  how- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


204 

♦< 

dali,  clapped  bis  bands  vigorously,  and  sent  bis  high 
clear  voice  ringing  like  a  trumpet  down  the  line. 

“Well  done,  Kildare!  well  done,  indeed!”  and 
bis  rival’s  praise  was  not  the  least  grateful  to  Lord 
Steepleton  on  that  day.  Meanwhile  the  shikarries 
gathered  around  the  fallen  beast.  It  proved  to  be  a 
i  young  tigress  some  eight  feet  long,  and  the  clean 
bright  coat  showed  that  she  was  no  man-eater.  So 
the  pad  elephant  came  alongside,  to  use  a  nautical 
phrase  not  inappropriate,  and  kneeling  down  received 
its  burden  willingly,  well  knowing  that  the  slain 
beauty  was  one  of  his  deadly  foes.  The  mahout  pro¬ 
nounced  the  elephant  on  which  Kildare  was  mounted 
able  to  proceed,  and  only  a  few  huge  drops  of  blood 
marked  where  the  tigress  had  kept  her  hold.  We 
moved  on  again,  beating  the  jungle,  wheeling  and 
doubling  the  long  line,  wherever  it  seemed  likely 
that  some  striped  monster  might  have  eluded  us. 
Marching  and  counter-marching  through  the  heat  of 
the  day,  we  picked  up  another  prize  in  the  afternoon. 
It  was  a  large  old  tiger,  nine  feet  six  as  he  lay;  he 
fell  an  easy  prey  to  the  gun  of  the  little  collector  of 
Pegnugger,  who  sent  a  bullet  through  his  heart  at  the 
first  shot,  and  smiled  rather  contemptuously  as  he 
removed  the  empty  shell  of  the  cartridge  from  his 
gun.  He  would  rather  have  had  Kildare’s  chance  in 
the  morning. 

After  all,  two  tigers  in  a  day  was  not  bad  sport  for 
the  time  of  year.  I  knew  Isaacs  would  be  disap¬ 
pointed  at  not  having  had  a  shot,  where  his  rival  in 


MR.  ISAACS. 


205 


a  certain  quarter  had  had  so  good  an  opportunity  for 
displaying  skill  and  courage ;  and  I  confessed  to  my¬ 
self  that  I  preferred  a  small  party,  say,  a  dozen  ele¬ 
phants  and  three  howdahs,  to  this  tremendous  and 
expensive  battue.  I  had  a  shot-gun  with  me,  and 
consoled  myself  by  shooting  a  peacock  or  two  as  we 
rolled  and  swayed  homewards.  We  had  determined 
to  keep  to  the  same  camp  for  a  day  or  two,  as  we 
could  enter  the  forest  from  another  point  on  the  mor¬ 
row,  and  might  even  heat  some  of  the  same  ground 
again  with  success. 

It  was  past  five  when  we  got  down  to  the  tents 
and  descended  from  our  howdahs,  glad  to  stretch  our 
stiffened  limbs  in  a  brisk  walk.  The  dead  tigers 
were  hauled  into  the  middle  of  the  camp,  and  the 
servants  ran  together  to  see  the  result  of  the  sahib  log's 
day  out.  We  retired  to  dress  and  refresh  ourselves 
for  dinner. 


206 


MR.  ISAACS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

In  Isaacs’  tent  I  was  pulling  off  my  turban,  all 
shapeless  and  crumpled  by  the  long  day,  while  Isaacs 
stood  disconsolately  looking  at  the  clean  guns  and 
unbroken  rows  of  cartridges  which  Narain  deposited 
on  the  table.  The  sun  was  very  low,  and  shone 
horizontally  through  the  raised  door  of  the  tent  on 
my  friend’s  rather  gloomy  face.  At  that  moment 
something  intercepted  the  sunshine,  and  a  dark 
shadow  fell  across  the  floor.  I  looked,  and  saw  a 
native  standing  on  the  threshold,  salaaming  and 
waiting  to  be  spoken  to.  He  was  not  one  of  our 
men,  but  a  common  ryot,  clad  simply  in  a  dhoti  or 
waist-cloth,  and  a  rather  dirty  turban. 

“  Kya  chahte  ho  ?  ”  —  “  What  do  you  want  ?  ”  asked 
Isaacs  impatiently.  He  was  not  in  a  good  humour 
by  any  means.  “Wilt  thou  deprive  thy  betters  of  the 
sunlight  thou  enjoyest  thyself?” 

“The  sahib’s  face  is  like  the  sun  and  the  moon,” 
replied  the  man  deprecatingly.  “But  if  the  great 
lord  will  listen  I  will  tell  him  what  shall  rejoice  his 
heart.” 

“Speak,  unbeliever,”  said  Isaacs. 

“Protector  of  the  poor!  37ou  are  my  father  and  my 


MR.  ISAACS. 


207 


mother!  but  I  know  where  there  lieth  a  great  tiger,  an 
eater  of  men,  hard-hearted,  that  delighteth  in  blood.” 

“  Dog,  ”  answered  Isaacs,  calmly  removing  his  coat, 
“  the  tiger  you  speak  of  was  seen  by  you  many  moons 
since;  what  do  you  come  to  me  with  idle  tales  for?” 
Isaacs  was  familiar  with  the  native  trick  of  palming 
off  old  tigers  on  the  unwary  stranger,  in  the  hope  of 
a  reward. 

“  Sahib,  I  am  no  liar.  I  saw  the  tiger,  who  is 
the  king  of  the  forest,  this  morning.”  Isaacs’  man¬ 
ner  relaxed  a  little,  and  he  sat  down  and  lighted  the 
eternal  cigarette.  “Slave,”  he  said  meditatively,  “if 
it  is  as  you  say,  I  will  kill  the  tiger,  but  if  it  is  not 
as  you  say,  I  will  kill  you,  and  cause  your  body  to  be 
buried  with  the  carcass  of  an  ox,  and  your  soul  shall 
not  live.”  The  man  did  not  seem  much  moved  by 
the  threat.  He  moved  nearer,  and  salaamed  again. 

“  It  is  near  to  the  dwelling  of  the  sahib,  who  is  my 
father,”  said  the  man,  speaking  low.  “The  day 
before  yesterday  he  destroyed  a  man  from  the  village. 
He  has  eaten  five  men  in  the  last  moon.  I  have  seen 
him  enter  his  lair,  and  he  will  surely  return  before  the 
dawn;  and  the  sahib  shall  strike  him  by  his  light¬ 
ning;  and  the  sahib  will  not  refuse  me  the  ears  of 
the  man-eater,  that  I  may  make  a  jadu ,  a  charm 
against  sudden  death?” 

“Hound!  if  thou  speakest  the  truth,  and  I  kill  the 
tiger,  the  monarch  of  game,  I  will  make  thee  a  rich 
man ;  but  thou  shalt  not  have  his  ears.  I  desire  the 
jadu  for  myself.  I  have  spoken ;  wait  thou  here  my 


208 


MR.  ISAACS. 


pleasure.”  The  ryot  bent  low  to  the  earth,  and  then 
squatted  by  the  tent-door  to  wait,  in  the  patient  way 
that  a  Hindoo  can,  for  Isaacs  to  go  and  eat  his 
dinner.  As  the  latter  came  out  ten  minutes  later, 
he  paused  and  addressed  the  man  once  more.  “  Speak 
not  to  any  man  of  thy  tiger  while  I  am  gone,  or  I 
will  cut  off  thine  ears  with  a  pork  knife.”  And  we 
passed  on. 

The  sun  was  now  set  and  hovering  in  the  after¬ 
glow,  the  neAV  moon  was  following  lazily  down.  I 
stopped  a  moment  to  look  at  her,  and  was  surprised 
by  Miss  Westonhaugh’s  voice  close  behind  me. 

“  Are  you  wishing  by  the  new  moon,  Mr.  Griggs  ?  ” 
she  asked. 

“Yes,”  said  I,  “I  was.  And  what  were  you  wish¬ 
ing,  Miss  Westonliaugh,  if  I  may  ask?”  Isaacs  came 
up,  and  paused  beside  us.  The  beautiful  girl  stood 
quite  still,  looking  to  westward,  a  red  glow  on  the 
white-gold,  masses  of  her  hair. 

“Did  you  say  you  were  wishing  for  something, 
Miss  Westonhaugh  ?  ”  he  asked.  “  Perhaps  I  can  get 
it  for  you.  More  flowers,  perhaps  ?  They  are  very 
easily  got.” 

“No  —  that  is,  not  especially.  I  was  wishing  — 
well,  that  a  tiger-hunt  might  last  for  ever;  and  I 
want  a  pair  of  tiger’s  ears.  My  old  ayah  says  they 
keep  off  evil  spirits  and  sickness ;  and  all  sorts  of 
things.” 

“  I  know ;  it  is  a  curious  idea.  -  I  suppose  both 
those  beasts  there  have  lost  theirs  already.  These 
fellows  cut  them  off  in  no  time,” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


209 


“Yes.  I  have  looked.  So  I  suppose  I  must  wait 
till  to-morrow.  But  promise  me,  Mr.  Isaacs,  if  you 
shoot  one  to-morrow,  let  me  have  the  ears !  ” 

“I  will  promise  that  readily  enough.  I  would 

promise  anything  you - ”  The  last  part  of  the 

sentence  was  lost  to  me,  as  I  moved  away  and  left 
them. 

At  dinner,  of  course,  every  one  talked  of  the  day’s 
sport,  and  compliments  of  all  kinds  were  showered 
on  Lord  Steepleton,  who  looked  very  much  pleased, 
and  drank  a  good  deal  of  wine.  Ghyrkins  and  the 
little  magistrate  expressed  their  opinion  that  he 
would  make  a  famous  tiger-killer  one  of  these  days, 
when  he  had  learned  to  wait.  Every  one  was  hungry 
and  rather  tired,  and  after  a  someAvhat  silent  cigar, 
we  parted  for  the  night,  Miss  Westonhaugh  rising 
first.  Isaacs  went  to  his  quarters,  and  I  remained 
alone  in  a  long  chair,  by  the  deserted  dining-tent. 
Kiramat  Ali  brought  me  a  fresh  hookah,  and  I  lay 
quietly  smoking  and  thinking  of  all  kinds  of  things 
—  things  of  all  kinds,  tigers,  golden  hair,  more 

tigers,  Isaacs,  Shere  Ali,  Baithop - ,  what  was 

his  name  —  Baithop — p - .  I  fell  asleep. 

Some  one  touched  my  hand,  waking  me  suddenly. 
I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  seized  the  man  by  the  throat, 
before  I  recognised  in  the  starlight  that  it  was  Isaacs. 

“You  are  not  a  nice  person  to  rouse,”  remarked  he 
in  a  low  voice,  as  I  relaxed  my  grasp.  “  You  will  have 
fever  if  you  sleep  out-of-doors  at  this  time  of  year. 
Now  look  here;  it  is  past  midnight,  and  I  am  going 


210 


MR.  ISAACS. 


out  a  little  way.”  I  noticed  that  he  had  a  lcookrie 
knife  at  his  waist,  and  that  his  cartridge-belt  was  on 
his  chest. 

“I  will  go  with  you,”  said  I,  guessing  his  inten¬ 
tion.  “I  will  be  ready  in  a  moment,”  and  I  began 
to  move  towards  the  tent. 

“No.  I  must  go  alone,  and  do  this  thing  single- 
handed.  I  have  a  particular  reason.  I  only  wanted 
to  warn  you  I  was  gone,  in  case  you  missed  me.  I 
shall  take  that  ryot  fellow  Avith  me  to  show  me  the 
way.” 

“Give  him  a  gun,”  I  suggested. 

“He  could  not  use  one  if  I  did.  He  has  your 
kookrie  in  case  of  accidents.” 

“  Oh,  very  well !  do  not  let  me  interfere  Avith  any 
innocent  and  childlike  pastime  you  may  propose  for 
your  evening  hours.  I  will  attend  to  your  funeral 
in  the  morning.  Good-night.” 

“Good-night;  I  shall  be  back  before  you  are  up.” 
And  he  walked  quickly  off  to  where  the  ryot  Avas 
Avaiting  and  holding  his  guns.  He  had  the  sense  to 
take  tAvo.  I  Avas  angry  at  the  perverse  temerity  of 
the  man.  Why  could  he  not  have  an  elephant  out 
and  go  like  a  sensible  thinking  being,  instead  of 
sneaking  out  Avith  one  miserable  peasant  to  lie  all 
night  among  the  reeds,  in  as  great  danger  from  cobras 
as  from  the  beast  he  meant  to  kill  ?  And  all  for  a  girl 
—  an  English  girl  —  a  creature  all  fair  hair  and  eyes, 
Avith  no  more  intelligence  than  a  sheep !  Was  it  not 
she  avIio  sent  him  out  to  his  death  in  the  jungle,  that 


MR.  ISAACS. 


211 


lier  miserable  caprice  for  a  pair  of  tiger’s  ears  might 
be  immediately  satisfied?  If  a  woman  ever  loved 
me,  Paul  Griggs, — thank  heaven  no  woman  ever 
did,  — -would  I  go  out  into  bogs  and  desert  places 
and  risk  my  precious  skin  to  find  her  a  pair  of  cat’s 
ears?  Not  I; — wait  a  moment,  though.  If  I  were 
in  his  place,  if  Miss  Westonhaugh  loved  me  —  I 
laughed  at  the  conceit.  But  supposing  she  did. 
Just  for  the  sake  of  argument,  I  would  allow  it.  I 
think  that  I  would  risk  something  after  all.  What 
a  glorious  thing  it  would  be  to  be  loved  by  a  woman, 
once,  wholly  and  for  ever.  To  meet  the  creature  I 
described  to  him  the  other  night,  waiting  for  me  to 
come  into  her  life,  and  to  he  to  her  all  I  could  be  to 
the  woman  I  should  love.  But  she  has  never  come; 
never  will,  now;  still,  there  is  a  sort  of  rest  to  me  in 
thinking  of  rest.  Hearth,  home,  wife,  children;  the 
worn  old  staff  resting  in  the  corner,  never  to  wander 
again.  What  a  strange  thing  it  is  that  men  should 
have  all  these,  and  more,  and  yet  never  see  that  they 
have  the  simple  elements  of  earthly  happiness,  if  they 
would  but  use  them.  And  we,  outcasts  and  wan¬ 
derers,  children  of  sin  and  darkness,  in  whose  hands 
one  commandment  seems  hardly  less  fragile  than 
another,  would  give  anything  —  had  we  anything  to 
give  —  for  the  happiness  of  a  home,  to  call  our  own. 
How  strange  it  is  that  what  I  said  to  Isaacs  should 
be  true.  “  Do  not  marry  unless  you  must  depend  on 
each  other  for  daily  bread,  or  unless  you  are  rich 
enough  to  live  apart.”  Yes,  it  is  true,  in  ninety- 


212 


MR.  ISAACS. 


nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred.  But  then,  I  should 

* 

add  a  saving  clause,  “and  unless  you  are  quite  sure 
that  you  love  each  other.”  Ay,  there  is  the  pons 
asinorum ,  the  bridge  whereon  young  asses  and  old 
fools  come  to  such  terrible  grief.  They  are  perfectly 
sure  they  love  eternally;  they  will  indignantly  scorn 
the  suggestions  of  prudence ;  love  any  other  woman  ? 
never,  while  I  live,  answers  the  happy  and  unsophis¬ 
ticated  youth.  Be  sorry  I  did  it?  Do  you  think  I 
am  a  schoolboy  in  my  first  passion?  demands  the 
aged  bridegroom.  And  so  they  marry,  and  in  a  year 
or  two  the  enthusiastic  young  man  runs  away  with 
some  other  enthusiastic  man’s  wife,  and  the  octo¬ 
genarian  spouse  finds  himself  constituted  into  a  pot 
of  honey  for  his  wife’s  swarming  relations  to  settle 
on,  like  flies.  But  a  man  in  strong  middle  prime  of 
age,  like  me,  knows  his  own  mind ;  and  —  yes,  on  the 
whole  I  was  unjust  to  Isaacs  and  to  Miss  Weston- 
liaugh.  If  a  woman  loved  me,  she  should  have  all 
the  tiger’s  ears  she  wanted.  “  Still,  I  hope  he  will 
get  back  safely,”  I  added,  in  afterthought  to  my 
reverie,  as  I  turned  into  bed  and  ordered  Kiramat 
Ali  to  wake  me  half  an  hour  before  dawn. 

I  was  restless,  sleeping  a  little  and  dreaming  much. 
At  last  I  struck  a  light  and  looked  at  my  watch. 
Four  o’clock.  It  would  not  be  dawn  for  more  than 
an  hour.  I  knew  Isaacs  had  made  for  the  place 
where  the  tiger  passed  his  days,  certain  that  he 
would  return  near  daybreak,  according  to  all  common 
probability.  He  need  not  have  gone  so  early,  I 


MR.  ISAACS. 


213 


thought.  However,  it  might  he  a  long  way  off.  I 
lay  still  for  a  while,  hut  it  seemed  very  hot  and  close 
under  the  canvas.  I  got  up  and  threw  a  caftdn 
round  me,  drew  a  chair  into  the  conndt  and  sat,  or 
rather  lay,  down  in  the  cool  morning  hreeze.  Then 
I  dozed  again  until  Kiramat  Ali  woke  me  hy  pulling 
at  my  foot.  He  said  it  would  he  dawn  in  half  an 
hour.  I  had  passed  a  had  night,  and  went  out,  as  I 
was,  to  walk  on  the  grass.  There  was  Miss  Weston- 
haugh’s  tent  away  off  at  the  other  end.  She  was 
sleeping  calmly  enough,  never  doubting  that  at  that 
very  moment  the  man  who  loved  her  was  risking  his 
life  for  her  pleasure — her  slightest  whim.  She 
would  he  wide  awake  if  she  knew  it,  staring  out  into 
the  darkness  and  listening  for  the  crack  of  his  rifle. 
A  faint  light  appeared  behind  the  dining-tent,  over 
the  distant  trees,  like  the  light  of  London  seen  from 
twenty  or  thirty  miles’  distance  in  the  country,  a 
faint,  suggestive,  murky  grayness  in  the  sky,  making 
the  stars  look  dimmer. 

The  sound  of  a  shot  rang  true  and  clear  through 
the  chill  air;  not  far  off  I  thoughtt  I  held  my  breath, 
listening  for  a  second  report,  hut  none  came.  So  it 
was  over.  Either  he  had  killed  the  tiger  with  his 
first  bullet,  or  the  tiger  had  killed  him  before  he 
could  fire  a  second.  I  was  intensely  excited.  If  he 
were  safe  I  wished  him  to  have  the  glory  of  coming 
home  quite  alone.  There  was  nothing  for  it  hut  to 
wait,  so  I  went  into  my  tent  and  took  a  hath  —  a 
very  simple  operation  where  the  bathing  consists  in 


214 


MR.  ISAACS. 


pouring  a  huge  jar  of  water  over  one’s  head.  Tents 
in  India  have  always  a  small  side  tent  with  a  ditch 
dug  to  drain  off  the  water  from  the  copious  ablutions 
of  the  inmate.  I  emerged  into  the  room  feeling 
better.  It  was  now  quite  light,  and  I  proceeded  to 
dress  leisurely  to  spin  out  the  time.  As  I  was  draw¬ 
ing  on  my  hoots,  Isaacs  sauntered  in  quietly  and  laid 
his  gun  on  the  table.  He  was  pale,  and  his  Karkee 
clothes  were  covered  with  mud  and  leaves  and  bits  of 
creeper,  hut  his  movements  showed  he  was  not  hurt 
in  any  way ;  he  hardly  seemed  tired. 

“  W ell  ?  ”  I  said  anxiously. 

“Very  well,  thank  you.  Here  they  are,”  and  he 
produced  from  the  pocket  of  his  coat  the  spolia  opima 
in  the  shape  of  a  pair  of  ears,  that  looked  very  large 
to  me.  There  was  a  little  blood  on  them  and  on  his 
hands  as  he  handed  the  precious  trophies  to  me  for 
inspection.  We  stood  by  the  open  door,  and  while  I 
was  turning  over  the  ears  curiously  in  my  hands,  he 
looked  down  at  his  clothes. 

“I  think  I  will  take  a  hath,”  he  said;  “I  must 
have  been  in  a  dirty  place.” 

“My  dear  fellow,”  I  said,  taking  his  hand,  “this  is 
absurd.  I  mean  all  this  affected  calmness.  I  was 
angry  at  your  going  in  that  way,  to  risk  your  head 
in  a  tiger’s  mouth;  but  I  am  sincerely  glad  to  see 
you  back  alive.  I  congratulate  you  most  heartily.” 

“Thank  you,  old  man,”  he  said,  his  pale  face 
brightening  a  little.  “  I  am  very  glad  myself.  Do 
you  know  I  have  a  superstition  that  I  must  fulfil 


ME.  ISAACS. 


215 


every  wish  of  —  like  that  —  even  half  expressed,  to 
the  very  letter? ” 

“The  ‘superstition,’  as  you  call  it,  is  worthy  of  the 
bravest  knight  that  ever  laid  lance  in  rest.  Don’t 
part  with  superstitions  like  that.  They  are  noble 
and  generous  things.” 

“Perhaps,”  he  answered,  “hut  I  really  am  very 
superstitious,”  he  added,  as  he  turned  into  the  bath¬ 
ing  conndt.  Soon  I  heard  him  splashing  among  the 
water  jars. 

“By-the-bye,  Griggs,”  he  called  out  through  the 
canvas,  “I  forgot  to  tell  you.  They  are  bringing 
that  beast  home  on  an  elephant.  It  was  much  nearer 
than  we  supposed.  They  will  be  here  in  twenty 
minutes.”  A  tremendous  splashing  interrupted  him. 
“You  can  go  and  attend  to  that  funeral  you  were 
talking  about  last  night,”  he  added,  and  his  voice 
was  again  drowned  in  the  swish  and  souse  of  the 
water.  “  He  was  rather  large  — •  over  ten  feet  —  I 

should  say.  Measure  him  as  soon  as  he - ” 

another  cascade  completed  the  sentence.  I  went  out, 
taking  the  measuring  tape  from  the  table. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  procession  appeared.  Two 
or  three  matutinal  shikarries  had  gone  out  and  come 
back,  followed  by  the  elephant,  for  which  Isaacs  had 
sent  the  ryot  at  full  speed  the  moment  he  was  sure 
the  beast  was  dead.  And  so  they  came  up  the  little 
hill  behind  the  dining-tent.  The  great  tusker  moved 
evenly  along,  bearing  on  the  pad  an  enormous  yellow 
carcass,  at  which  the  little  mahout  glanced  occasion- 


216 


MR.  ISAACS. 


ally  over  his  shoulder.  Astride  of  the  dead  king  sat 
the  ryot,  who  had  directed  Isaacs,  crooning  a  strange 
psalm  of  victory  in  his  outlandish  northern  dialect, 
and  occasionally  clapping  his  hands  over  his  head 
with  an  expression  of  the  most  intense  satisfaction  I 
have  ever  seen  on  a  human  face.  The  little  band 
came  to  the  middle  of  the  camp  where  the  other 
tigers,  now  cut  up  and  skinned  elsewhere,  had  been 
deposited  the  night  before,  and  as  the  elephant  knelt 
down,  the  shikarries  pulled  the  whole  load  over,  pad, 
tiger,  ryot  and  all,  the  latter  skipping  nimbly  aside. 
There  he  lay,  the  great  beast  that  had  taken  so  many 
lives.  We  stretched  him  out  and  measured  him  — 
eleven  feet  from  the  tip  of  his  nose  to  the  end  of  his 
tail,  all  but  an  inch  —  as  a  little  more  straightening 
fills  the  measure,  eleven  feet  exactly. 

Meanwhile,  the  servant  and  shikarries  collected, 
and  the  noise  of  the  exploit  went  abroad.  The  sun 
was  just  rising  when  Mr.  Ghyrkins  put  his  head  out 
of  his  tent  and  wanted  to  know  “what  the  deuce  all 
this  tamdsha  was  about.” 

“  Oh,  nothing  especial,”  I  called  out.  “Isaacs  has 
killed  an  eleven  foot  man-eater  in  the  night.  That 
is  all.” 

“Well  I’m  damned,”  said  Mr.  Ghyrkins  briefly, 
and  to  the  point,  as  he  stared  from  his  tent  at  the 
great  carcass,  which  lay  stretched  out  for  all  to  see, 
the  elephant  having  departed. 

“Clear  off  those  fellows  and  let  me  have  a  look  at 
him,  can’t  you?”  he  called  out,  gathering  the  tent 


MR.  ISAACS. 


217 


curtains  round  his  neck ;  and  there  he  stood,  his  jolly 
red  face  and  dishevelled  gray  hair  looking  as  if  they 
had  no  body  attached  at  all. 

I  went  back  to  our  quarters.  Isaacs  was  putting 
the  ears,  which  he  had  carefully  cleansed  from  blood, 
into  a  silver  box  of  beautiful  workmanship,  which 
Narain  had  extracted  from  his  master’s  numerous 
traps. 

“Take  that  box  to  Miss  Westonhaugh’s  tent,”  he 
said,  giving  it  to  the  servant,  “with  a  greeting  from 
me  —  with  4  much  peace.’  ”  The  man  went  out. 

“She  will  send  the  box  back,”  said  I.  “Such  is 
the  Englishwoman.  She  will  take  a  pair  of  tiger’s 
ears  that  nearly  cost  you  your  life,  and  she  would 
rather  die  than  accept  the  bit  of  silver  in  which  you 
enclose  them,  without  the  4  permission  of  her  uncle. 

44 1  do  not  care,”  he  said,  44 so  long  as  she  keeps  the 
ears.  But  unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  she  will  keep 
the  box  too.  She  is  not  like  other  Englishwomen  in 
the  least.” 

I  was  not  sure  of  that.  We  had  some  tea  in  the 
door  of  our  tent,  and  Isaacs  seemed  hungry  and 
thirsty,  as  well  he  might  be.  Now  that  he  was 
refreshed  by  bathing  and  the  offices  of  the  camp  bar¬ 
ber,  he  looked  much  as  usual,  save  that  the  extreme 
paleness  I  had  noticed  when  he  came  in  had  given 
place  to  a  faint  flush  beneath  the  olive,  probably  due 
to  his  excitement,  the  danger  being  past.  As  we  sat 
there,  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  had  slept  rather 
later  than  usual  after  their  fatigues  of  the  previous 


218 


MR.  ISAACS. 


day,  came  out  one  by  one  and  stood  around  the  dead 
tiger,  wondering  at  the  tale  told  by  the  delighted 
ryot,  who  squatted  at  the  beast’s  head  to  relate  the 
adventure  to  all  comers.  We  could  see  the  group 
from  where  we  sat,  in  the  shadow  of  the  conndt ,  and 
the  different  expressions  of  the  men  as  they  came 
out.  The  little  collector  of  Pegnugger  measured 
and  measured  again;  Mr.  Ghyrkins  stood  with  his 
hands  in  his  coat  pockets  and  his  legs  apart,  then 
going  to  the  other  side  lie  took  up  the  same  position 
again.  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare  sauntered  round  and 
twirled  his  big  moustache,  saying  nothing  the  while, 
but  looking  rather  serious.  John  Westonhaugli, 
who  seemed  to  be  the  artistic  genius  of  the  party, 
sent  for  a  chair  and  made  his  servant  hold  an  umbrella 
over  him  while  he  sketched  the  animal  in  his  note¬ 
book,  and  presently  his  sister  came  out,  a  big  bunch 
of  roses  in  her  belt,  and  a  broad  hat  half  hiding  her 
face,  and  looked  at  the  tiger  and  then  round  the  party 
quickly,  searching  for  Isaacs.  In  her  hand  she  held 
a  little  package  wrapped  in  white  tissue  paper.  I 
strolled  up  to  the  group,  leaving  Isaacs  in  his  tent. 
I  thought  I  might  as  well  play  innocence. 

“Of  course,”  I  remarked,  “those  fellows  have 
bagged  his  ears  as  usual.” 

“They  never  omit  that,”  said  Ghyrkins. 

“Oh  no,  uncle,”  broke  in  Miss  Westonhaugh,  “he 
gave  them  to  me!  ” 

“Who?”  asked  Ghyrkins,  opening  his  little  eyes 
wide. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


219 


“Mr.  Isaacs.  Did  not  he  kill  the  tiger?  He  sent 
me  the  ears  in  a  little  silver  box.  Here  it  is  —  the 
box,  I  mean.  I  am  going  to  give  it  back  to  him,  of 
course.” 

“ How  did  Mr.  Isaacs  know  you  wanted  them?” 
asked  her  uncle,  getting  red  in  the  face. 

“Why,  we  were  talking  about  them  last  night 
before  dinner,  and  he  promised  that  if  he  shot  a  tiger 
to-day  he  would  give  me  the  ears.”  Mr.  Ghyrkins 
was  redder  and  redder  in  the  morning  sun.  There 
was  a  storm  of  some  kind  brewing.  We  were  col¬ 
lected  together  on  the  other  side  of  the  dead  tiger 
and  exchanged  all  kinds  of  spontaneous  civilities 
and  remarks,  not  wishing  to  witness  Mr.  Ghyrkins’ 
wrath,  nor  to  go  away  too  suddenly.  I  heard  the 
conversation,  however,  for  the  old  gentleman  made 
no  pretence  of  lowering  his  voice. 

“And  do  you  mean  to  say  you  let  him  go  off  like 
that?  He  must  have  been  out  all  night.  That  beast 
of  a  nigger  says  so.  On  foot,  too.  I  say  on  foot! 
Do  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about?  Eh? 
Shooting  tigers  on  foot ?  What?  Eh?  Might  have 
been  killed  as  easily  as  not!  And  then  what  would 
you  have  said?  Eh?  What?  Upon  my  soul!  You 
girls  from  home  have  no  more  hearts  than  a  parcel  of 
old  Juggernauts !  ”  Ghyrkins  was  now  furious.  We 
edged  away  towards  the  dining-tent,  making  a  great 
talk  about  the  terrible  heat  of  the  sun  in  the  morn¬ 
ing.  I  caught  the  beginning  of  Miss  Westonhaugh’s 
answer.  She  had  hardly  appreciated  the  situation 


220 


MR.  ISAACS. 


yet,  and  probably  thought  her  uncle  was  joking,  but 
she  spoke  very  coldly,  being  properly  annoyed  at  his 
talking  in  such  a  way. 

“You  cannot  suppose  for  a  moment  that  I  meant 
him  to  go,”  I  heard  her  say,  and  something  else 
followed  in  a  lower  tone.  We  then  went  into  the 
dining-tent. 

“Now  look  here,  Katharine,”  Mr.  Ghyrkins’  irate 
voice  rang  across  the  open  space,  “if  any  young 

woman  asked  me - ”  John  W estonhaugh  had  risen 

from  his  chair  and  apparently  interrupted  his  uncle. 
Miss  Westonhaugh  walked  slowly  to  her  tent,  while 
her  male  relations  remained  talking.  I  thought 
Isaacs  had  shown  some  foresight  in  not  taking  part 
in  the  morning  discussion.  The  two  men  went  into 
their  tents  together  and  the  dead  tiger  lay  alone  in 
the  grass,  the  sun  rising  higher  and  higher,  pouring 
down  his  burning  rays  on  man  and  beast  and  green 
thing.  And  soon  the  shikarries  came  with  a  small 
elephant  and  dragged  the  carcass  away  to  be  skinned 
and  cut  up.  Kildare  and  the  collector  said  they 
would  go  and  shoot  some  small  game  for  dinner. 
Isaacs,  I  supposed,  was  sleeping,  and  I  was  alone  in 
the  dining-tent.  I  shouted  for  Kiramat  Ali  and  sent 
for  books,  paper,  and  pens,  and  a  hookah,  resolved 
to  have  a  quiet  morning  to  myself,  since  it  was  clear 
we  were  not  going  out  to-day.  I  saw  Ghyrkins’ 
servant  enter  his  tent  with  bottles  and  ice,  and  I  sus¬ 
pected  the  old  fellow  was  going  to  cool  his  wrath 
with  a  “peg,”  and  would  be  asleep  most  of  the  morn- 


MR. .  ISAACS. 


221 


ing.  John  would  take  a  peg  too,  hut  he  would  not 
sleep  in  consequence,  being  of  Bombay,  iron-headed 
and  spirit-proof.  So  I  read  on  and  wrote,  and  was 
happy,  for  I  like  the  heat  of  the  noon-day  and  the 
buzzing  of  the  flies,  and  the  smell  of  the  parched 
grass,  being  southern  born. 

About  twelve  o’clock,  when  I  was  beginning  to 
think  I  had  done  enough  work  for  one  day,  I  saw 
Miss  Westonhaugh’s  native  maid  come  out  of  her 
mistress’s  tent  and  survey  the  landscape,  shading  her 
eyes  with  her  hand.  She  was  dressed,  of  course,  in 
spotless  white  drapery,  and  there  were  heavy  anklets 
on  her  feet  and  bangles  of  silver  on  her  wrist.  She 
seemed  satisfied  by  her  inspection  and  went  in  again, 
returning  presently  with  Miss  Westonhaugli  and  a 
large  package  of  work  and  novels  and  letter-writing 
materials.  They  came  straight  to  where  I  was  sit¬ 
ting  under  the  airy  tent  where  we  dined,  and  Miss 
Westonhaugli  established  herself  at  one  side  of  the 
table  at  the  end  of  which  I  was  writing. 

“It  is  so  hot  in  my  tent,”  she  said  almost  apologet¬ 
ically,  and  began  to  unroll  some  worsted  work. 

“Yes,  it  is  quite  unbearable,”  I  answered  politely, 
though  I  had  not  thought  much  about  the  tempera¬ 
ture.  There  was  a  long  silence,  and  I  collected  my 
papers  in  a  bundle  and  leaned  back  in  my  chair.  I 
did  not  know  what  to  say,  nor  was  anything  expected 
of  me.  I  looked  occasionally  at  the  young  girl,  who 
had  laid  her  hat  on  the  table,  allowing  the  rich  coils 
of  dazzling  hair  to  assert  their  independence.  Her 


222 


MR.  ISAACS. 


dark  eyes  were  bent  over  her  work  as  her  fingers 
deftly  pushed  the  needle  in  and  out  of  the  brown 
linen  she  worked  on. 

“Mr.  Griggs,”  she  began  at  last  without  looking 
up,  “did  you  know  Mr.  Isaacs  was  going  out  last 
night  to  kill  that  horrid  thing?”  I  had  expected 
the  question  for  some  time. 

“Yes;  he  told  me  about  midnight,  when  he 
started.” 

“Then  why  did  you  let  him  go?”  she  asked,  look¬ 
ing  suddenly  at  me,  and  knitting  her  dark  eyebrows 
rather  fiercely. 

“  I  do  not  think  I  could  have  prevented  him.  I  do 
not  think  anybody  could  prevent  him  from  doing 
anything  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to.  I  nearly 
quarrelled  with  him,  as  it  was.” 

“  I  am  sure  I  could  have  stopped  him,  if  I  had  been 
you,”  she  said  innocently. 

“  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  you  could.  Unfor¬ 
tunately,  however,  you  were  not  available  at  the  time, 
or  I  would  have  suggested  it  to  you.” 

“I  wish  I  had  known,”  she  went  on,  plunging 
deeper  and  deeper.  “  I  would  not  have  had  him  go 
for — for  anything.” 

“Oh!  Well,  I  suppose  not.  But,  seriously,  Miss 
Westonhaugh,  are  you  not  flattered  that  a  man 
should  be  willing  and  read}^  to  risk  life  and  limb 
in  satisfying  your  lightest  fancy?” 

“Flattered?”  she  looked  at  me  with  much  aston¬ 
ishment  and  some  anger.  I  was  sure  the  look  was 
genuine  and  not  assumed. 


ME.  ISAACS. 


223 


“At  all  events  the  tiger’s  ears  will  always  be  a 
charming  reminiscence,  a  token  of  esteem  that  any 
one  might  he  proud  of.” 

“I  am  not  proud  of  them  in  the  least,  though  I 
shall  always  keep  them  as  a  warning  not  to  Avish  for 
such  things.  I  hope  that  the  next  time  Mr.  Isaacs  is 
going  to  do  a  foolish  thing  you  Avill  have  the  common 
sense  to  prevent  him.”  She  returned  to  her  starting- 
point;  hut  I  saAV  no  use  in  prolonging  the  skirmish, 
and  turned  the  talk  upon  other  things.  And  soon 
John  Westonhaugh  joined  us,  and  found  in  me  a 
sympathetic  talker  and  listener,  as  we  hotli  cared  a 
great  deal  more  for  hooks  than  for  tigers,  though  not 
averse  to  a  stray  shot  iioav  and  then. 

In  this  kind  of  life  the  Aveek  passed,  shooting  to¬ 
day  and  staying  in  camp  to-morrow.  We  shifted  our 
ground  several  times,  Avorking  along  the  borders  of 
the  forest  and  crashing  through  the  jungle  after  tiger 
Avith  varying  success.  In  the  evenings,  Avhen  not 
tired  Avitli  the  day’s  Avork,  Ave  sat  together,  and  Isaacs 
sang,  and  at  last  even  prevailed  upon  Miss  Weston¬ 
haugh  to  let  him  accompany  her  with  his  guitar,  in 
which  he  proved  very  successful.  They  Avere  con¬ 
stantly  together,  and  Ghyrkins  Avas  heard  to  say  that 
Isaacs  Avas  “  a  very  fine  felloAv,  and  it  Avas  a  pity  he 
wasn’t  English,”  to  which  Kildare  assented  some¬ 
what  mournfully,  alloAving  that  it  Avas  quite  true. 
His  chance  Avas  gone,  and  he  knew  it,  and  bore  it 
like  a  gentleman,  though  he  still  made  use  of  every 
opportunity  he  had  to  make  himself  acceptable  to 


224 


Mil.  ISAACS. 


Miss  Westonhaugh.  The  girl  liked  his  manly  ways, 
and  was  always  grateful  for  any  little  attention  from 
him  that  attracted  her  notice,  hut  it  was  evident  that 
all  her  interest  ceased  there.  She  liked  him  in  the 
same  way  she  liked  her  brother,  but  rather  less,  if 
anything.  She  hardly  knew,  for  she  had  seen  so 
little  of  John  since  she  was  a  small  child.  I  suppose 
Isaacs  must  have  talked  to  her  about  me,  for  she 
treated  me  with  a  certain  consideration,  and  often 
referred  questions  to  me,  on  which  I  thought  she 
might  as  well  have  consulted  some  one  else.  For 

O 

my  part,  I  served  the  lovers  in  every  Avay  I  could 
think  of.  I  would  have  done  anything  for  Isaacs 
then  as  now,  and  I  liked  her  for  the  honest  good 
feeling  she  had  shown  about  him,  especially  in  the 
matter  of  the  tiger’s  ears,  for  which  she  could  not 
forgive  herself  —  though  in  truth  she  had  been  inno¬ 
cent  enough.  And  they  were  really  lovers,  those  two. 
Any  one  might  have  seen  it,  and  but  for  the  won¬ 
drous  fascination  Isaacs  exercised  over  every  one 
who  came  near  him,  and  the  circumstances  of  his 
spotless  name  and  reputation  for  integrity  in  the 
large  transactions  in  which  lie  was  frequently  known 
to  be  engaged,  it  is  certain  that  Mr.  Ghyrkins  would 
have  looked  askance  at  the  whole  affair,  and  very 
likely  would  have  broken  up  the  party. 

In  the  course  of  time  we  became  a  little  blase  about 
tigers,  till  on  the  eighth  day  from  the  beginning  of 
the  hunt,  which  was  a  Thursday,  I  remember,  an 
incident  occurred  which  left  a  lasting  impression  on 


MR.  ISAACS 


225 


the  mind  of  every  one  who  witnessed  it.  It  was  a 
very  hot  morning,  the  hottest  day  we  had  had,  and 
we  had  just  crossed  a  nullah  in  the  forest,  full  from 
the  recent  rains,  wherein  the  elephants  lingered  lov¬ 
ingly  to  splash  the  water  over  their  heated  sides, 
drowning  the  swarms  of  mosquitoes  from  which  they 
suffer  such  torments,  in  spite  of  their  thick  skins. 
The  collector  called  a  halt  on  the  opposite  side ;  our 
line  of  march  had  become  somewhat  disordered  by 
the  passage,  and  numerous  tracks  in  the  pasty  black 
mud  showed  that  the  nullah  was  a  favourite  resort  of 
tigers  —  though  at  this  time  of  day  they  might  be  a 
long  distance  off.  I  had  come  next  to  the  collector 
after  we  emerged  from  the  stream,  the  pad  elephants 
having  lingered  longer  in  the  water,  and  Mr.  Ghyr- 
kins  with  Miss  Westonhaugh  was  three  or  four  places 
beyond  me.  It  was  shady  and  cool  under  the  thick 
trees,  and  the  light  was  not  good.  The  collector  bent 
over  liis  howdah,  looking  at  some  tracks. 

“  Those  tracks  look  suspiciously  fresh,  Mr.  Griggs,  ” 
said  the  collector,  scrutinising  the  holes,  not  yet  filled 
by  the  oozing  back  water  of  the  nullah.  “Don’t  you 
think  so  ?  ” 

“Indeed,  yes.  I  do  not  understand  it  at  all,”  I 
replied.  At  the  collector’s  call  a  couple  of  beaters 
came  forward  and  stooped  down  to  examine  the  trail. 
One  of  them,  a  good-looking  young  gowala ,  or  coav- 
herd,  folloAved  along  the  footprints,  examining  each 
to  be  sure  he  Avas  not  going  on  a  false  spoor ;  he  moved 
sloAvly,  scrutinising  each  hole,  as  the  traces  greAV 

Q 


226 


MR.  ISAACS. 


shallower  on  the  rising  ground,  approaching  a  bit  of 
small  jungle.  My  sight  followed  the  probable  course 
of  the  track  ahead  of  him  and  something  caught  my 
eyes,  which  are  remarkably  good,  even  at  a  great 
distance.  The  object  was  brown  and  hairy;  a  dark 
brown,  not  the  kind  of  colour  one  expects  to  see  in 
the  jungle  in  September.  I  looked  closely,  and  was 
satisfied  that  it  must  be  part  of  an  animal ;  still  more 
clearly  I  saw  it,  and  no  doubt  remained  in  my  mind; 
it  was  the  head  of  a  bullock  or  a  heifer.  I  shouted 
to  the  man  to  be  careful,  to  stop  and  let  the  elephants 
plough  through  the  undergrowth,  as  only  elephants 
can.  But  he  did  not  understand  my  Hindustani, 
which  was  of  the  civilised  Urdu  kind  learnt  in  the 
North-West  Provinces.  The  man  went  quickly 
along,  and  I  tried  to  make  the  collector  comprehend 
what  I  saw.  But  the  pad  elephants  were  coming 
out  of  the  water  and  forcing  themselves  between  our 
beasts,  and  he  hardly  caught  what  I  said  in  the  con¬ 
fusion.  The  track  led  away  to  my  left,  nearly  oppo¬ 
site  to  the  elephant  bearing  Mr.  Gliyrkins  and  his 
niece.  The  little  Pegnugger  man  was  on  my  right. 
The  native  held  on,  moving  more  and  more  rapidly 
as  he  found  himself  following  a  single  track.  I 
shouted  to  him  —  to  Gliyrkins  —  to  everybody,  but 
they  could  not  make  the  doomed  man  understand 
what  I  saw  —  the  freshly  slain  head  of  the  tiger’s 
last  victim.  There  was  little  doubt  that  the  king 
himself  was  near  by  —  probably  in  that  suspicious- 
looking  bit  of  green  jungle,  slimy  green  too,  as  green 


ME.  ISAACS. 


227 


is,  that  grows  in  sticky  chocolate-coloured  mud.  The 
young  fellow  was  courageous,  and  ignorant  of  the 
immediate  danger,  and,  above  all,  he  was  on  the 
look  out  for  bueksheesli.  He  reached  the  reeds  and 
unclean  vegetables  that  grew  thick  and  foul  together 
in  the  little  patch.  He  put  one  foot  into  the  bush. 

A  great  fiery  yellow  and  black  head  rose  cautiously 
above  the  level  of  the  green  and  paused  a  moment, 
glaring.  The  wretched  man,  transfixed  with  terror, 
stood  stock  still,  expecting  death.  Then  he  moved, 
as  if  to  throw  himself  on  one  side,  and  at  the  same 
instant  the  tiger  made  a  dash  at  his  naked  body,  such 
a  dash  as  a  great  relentless  cat  makes  at  a  gold-fish 
trying  to  slide  away  from  its  grip.  The  tiger  struck 
the  man  a  heavy  blow  on  the  right  shoulder,  felling 
him  like  a  log,  and  coming  down  to  a  standing  posi¬ 
tion  over  his  prey,  with  one  paw  on  the  native’s 
right  arm.  Probably  the  parade  of  elephants  and 
bright  coloured  howdahs,  and  the  shouts  of  the 
beaters  and  shikarries,  distracted  his  attention  for  a 
moment.  He  stood  whirling  his  tail  to  right  and 
left,  with  half  dropped  jaw  and  flaming  eyes,  half 
pressing,  half  grabbing  the  fleshy  arm  of  the  sense¬ 
less  man  beneath  him  —  impatient,  alarmed,  and 
horrible. 

“Pack!  !  !  Pi-i-i-i-ing  ...”  went  the  crack 
and  the  sing  of  the  merry  rifle,  and  the  scene  changed. 

With  a  yell  like  a  soul  in  everlasting  torment  the 
great  beast  whirled  himself  into  the  air  ten  feet  at 
least,  and  fell  dead  beside  his  victim,  shot  through 


228 


MR.  ISAACS. 


breast  and  breastbone  and  heart.  A  dead  silence  fell 
on  the  spectators.  Then  I  looked,  and  saw  Miss 
Westonliaugh  holding  out  a  second  gun  to  Mr. 
Ghyrkins,  while  he,  seeing  that  the  first  had  done 
its  work,  leaned  forward,  his  broad  face  pale  with  the 
extremity  of  his  horror  for  the  man’s  danger,  and  his 
hands  gripping  at  the  empty  rifle. 

44  You’ve  done  it  this  time,”  cried  the  collector  from 
the  right.  “Take  six  to  four  the  man’s  dead!  ” 

44  Done,”  called  Kildare  from  the  other  end.  I  was 
the  nearest  to  the  scene,  after  Ghyrkins.  I  dropped 
over  the  edge  of  the  howdah  and  made  for  the  spot, 
running.  I  think  I  reflected  as  I  ran  that  it  was 
rather  low  for  men  to  bet  on  the  poor  fellow’s  life 
in  that  way.  Tigers  are  often  very  deceptive  and 
always  die  hard,  and  I  am  a  cautious  person,  so  when 
I  was  near  I  pulled  out  my  long  army  six-shooter, 
and,  going  within  arm’s  length,  quietly  put  a  bullet 
through  the  beast’s  eye  as  a  matter  of  safety.  When 
he  was  cut  up,  however,  the  ball  from  the  rifle  of  Mr. 
Ghyrkins  was  found  in  his  heart ;  the  old  fellow  was 
a  dead  shot  still.  I  went  up  and  examined  the  pros¬ 
trate  man.  He  was  lying  on  his  face,  and  so  I  picked 
him  up  and  propped  his  head  against  the  dead  tiger. 
He  was  still  breathing,  but  a  very  little  examination 
proved  that  liis  right  collar-bone  and  the  bone  of  his 
upper  arm  were  broken.  A  little  brandy  revived 
him,  and  he  immediately  began  to  scream  with  pain. 
I  was  soon  joined  by  the  collector,  who  with  charac¬ 
teristic  promptitude  had  torn  and  hewed  some  broad 


MR.  ISAACS. 


229 


slats  of  bamboo  from  liis  howdah,  and  with  a  little 
pulling  and  wrenching,  and  the  help  of  my  long, 
tough  turban-cloth,  a  real  native  pugree,  we  set  and 
bound  the  arm  as  best  we  could,  giving  the  poor 
fellow  brandy  all  the  while.  The  collar-bone  we  left 
to  its  own  devices;  an  injury  there  takes  care  of 
itself. 

An  elephant  came  up  and  received  the  dead  tiger, 
and  the  man  was  carried  off  and  placed  in  my  howdah. 
The  other  animals  with  their  riders  had  gathered 
near  the  scene,  and  every  one  had  something  to  say 
to  Ghyrkins,  who  by  his  brilliant  shot  and  the  life  he 
had  saved,  had  maintained  his  reputation,  and  come 
off  the  hero  of  the  whole  campaign.  Miss  Weston- 
liaugh  was  speechless  with  horror  at  the  whole  thing, 
and  seemed  to  cling  to  her  uncle,  as  if  fearing  some¬ 
thing  of  the  same  kind  might  happen  to  her  at  any 
moment.  Isaacs,  as  usual  the  last  on  the  line  of 
beating,  came  up  and  called  out  his  congratulations. 

“After  saving  a  life  so  well,  Mr.  Ghyrkins,  you 
will  not  grudge  me  the  poor  honour  of  risking  one, 
will  you  ?  ” 

“Not  I,  my  boy!”  answered  the  delighted  old 
sportsman,  “only  if  that  mangy  old  man-eater  had 
got  you  down  the  other  day,  I  should  not  have  been 
there  to  pot  him !  ” 

“Great  shot,  sir!  I  envy  you,”  said  Kildare. 

“Splendid  shot.  A  hundred  yards  at  least,”  said 
John  Westonhaugli  meditatively,  but  in  a  loud 


voice. 


230 


MR.  ISAACS. 


So  we  swung  away  toward  the  camp,  though  it  was 
early.  Gliyrkins  chuckled,  and  the  man  with  the 
broken  bones  groaned.  But  between  the  different 
members  of  the  party  he  would  be  a  rich  man  before 
he  was  well.  I  amused  myself  with  my  favourite 
sport  of  potting  peacocks  with  bullets ;  it  is  very 
good  practice.  Isaacs  had  told  me  that  morning 
when  we  started  that  he  would  leave  us  the  next  day 
to  meet  Shere  Ali  near  Keitung.  We  reached  camp 
about  three  o’clock,  in  the  heat  of  the  afternoon. 
The  injured  beater  was  put  in  a  servant’s  tent  to  be 
sent  off  to  Pegnugger  in  a  litter  in  the  cool  of  the 
night.  There  was  a  doctor  there  who  would  take 
care  of  him  under  the  collector’s  written  orders. 

The  camp  was  in  a  shady  place,  quite  unlike  the 
spot  where  we  had  first  pitched  our  tents.  There 
was  a  little  grove  of  mango-trees,  rather  stunted,  as 
they  are  in  the  north,  and  away  at  one  corner  of  the 
plantation  was  a  well  with  a  small  temple  where  a 
Brahmin,  related  to  all  the  best  families  in  the  neigh¬ 
bouring  village,  dwelt  and  collected  the  gifts  bestowed 
on  him  and  his  simple  shrine  by  the  superstitious, 
devout,  or  worldly  pilgrims  who  yearly  and  monthly 
visited  him  in  search  of  counsel,  spiritual  or  social. 
The  men  had  mowed  the  grass  smooth  under  the 
trees,  and  the  shade  was  not  so  close  as  to  make  it 
damp.  Some  ryots  had  been  called  in  to  dig  a  ditch 
and  raised  a  rough  chapudra  or  terrace,  some  fifteen 
feet  in  diameter,  opposite  the  dining-tent,  on  which 
elevation  we  could  sit,  even  late  at  night,  in  reason- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


231 


able  security  from  cobras  and  other  evil  beasts.  It 
was  a  pleasant  place  in  the  afternoon,  and  pleasanter 
still  at  night.  As  I  turned  into  our  tent  after  we  got 
back,  I  thought  I  would  go  and  sit  there  when  I  had 
bathed,  and  send  for  a  hookah  and  a  novel,  and  go  to 
sleep. 


282 


MR.  ISAACS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

I  observed  that  Isaacs  was  very  quick  about  his 
toilet,  and  when  I  came  out  and  ascended  the  terrace, 
followed  by  Kiramat  Ali  with  books  and  tobacco,  I 
glanced  lazily  over  the  quiet  scene,  settling  myself 
in  my  chair,  and  fully  expecting  to  see  my  friend 
somewhere  among  the  trees,  not  unaccompanied  by 
some  one  else.  I  was  not  mistaken.  Turning  my 
eyes  towards  the  corner  of  the  grove  where  the  old 
Brahmin  had  his  shrine,  I  saw  the  two  well-known 
figures  of  Isaacs  and  Miss  Westonhaugh  sauntering 
towards  the  well.  Having  satisfied  the  expectations 
of  my  curiosity,  I  turned  over  the  volume  of  philoso¬ 
phy,  well  thumbed  and  hard  used  as  a  priest’s  brevi¬ 
ary,  and  I  inhaled  long  draughts  of  tobacco,  debating 
whether  I  should  read,  or  meditate,  or  dream.  Decid¬ 
ing  in  favour  of  the  more  mechanical  form  of  intel¬ 
lectuality,  I  fixed  on  a  page  that  looked  inviting,  and 
followed  the  lines,  from  left  to  right,  lazily  at  first, 
then  with  increased  interest,  and  finally  in  that 
absorbed  effort  of  continued  comprehension  which  con¬ 
stitutes  real  study.  Page  after  page,  syllogism  after 
syllogism,  conclusion  after  conclusion,  I  followed  for 
the  hundredth  time  in  the  book  I  love  well  —  the 


MR.  ISAACS. 


233 


book  of  him  that  would  destroy  the  religion  I  believe, 
but  whose  brilliant  failure  is  one  of  the  grandest 
efforts  of  the  purely  human  mind.  I  finished  a  chap¬ 
ter  and,  in  thought  still,  but  conscious  again  of  life, 
I  looked  up.  They  were  still  down  there  by  the 
well,  those  two,  but  while  I  looked  the  old  priest, 
bent  and  white,  came  out  of  the  little  temple  where 
he  had  been  sprinkling  his  image  of  Vishnu,  and 
dropped  his  aged  limbs  from  one  step  to  the  other 
painfully,  steadying  his  uncertain  descent  with  a 
stick.  He  went  to  the  beautiful  couple  seated  on 
the  edge  of  the  well,  built  of  mud  and  sun-dried 
bricks,  and  he  seemed  to  speak  to  Isaacs.  I  watched, 
and  became  interested  in  the  question  whether 
Isaacs  would  give  him  a  two-anna  bit  or  a  copper, 
and  whether  I  could  distinguish  with  the  naked  eye 
at  that  distance  between  the  silver  and  the  baser 
metal.  Curious,  thought  I,  how  odd  little  trifles 
will  absorb  the  attention.  The  interview  which  was 
to  lead  to  the  expected  act  of  charity  seemed  to  be 
lasting  a  long  time. 

Suddenly  Isaacs  turned  and  called  to  me;  his  high, 
distinct  tones  seeming  to  gather  volume  from  the 
hollow  of  the  well.  He  was  calling  me  to  join  them. 
I  rose,  rather  reluctantly,  from  my  books  and  moved 
through  the  trees  to  where  they  were. 

“Griggs,”  Isaacs  called  out  before  I  had  reached 
him,  “here  is  an  old  fellow  who  knows  something. 
I  really  believe  he  is  something  of  a  yogi.” 

“  What  ridiculous  nonsense,”  I  said  impatiently, 


234 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“  who  ever  heard  of  a  yogi  living  in  a  temple  and 
feeding  on  the  fat  of  the  land  in  the  way  all  these 
men  do?  Is  that  all  you  wanted?”  Miss  Weston- 
haugh,  peering  down  into  the  depths  of  the  well, 
laughed  gaily. 

“I  told  you  so!  Never  try  to  make  Mr.  Griggs 
swallow  that  kind  of  thing.  Besides,  he  is  a  ‘cynic’ 
you  know.” 

“As  far  as  personal  appearance  goes,  Miss  Weston- 
liaugh,  I  think  your  friend  the  Brahmin  there  stands 
more  chance  of  being  taken  for  a  philosopher  of  that 
school.  He  really  does  not  look  particularly  well 
fed,  in  spite  of  the  riches  I  thought  he  possessed.” 
He  was  a  strange-looking  old  man,  with  a  white 
beard  and  a  small  badly-rolled  pugree.  His  black 
eyes  were  filmy  and  disagreeable  to  look  at.  I  ad¬ 
dressed  him  in  Hindustani,  and  told  him  what  Isaacs 
said,  that  he  thought  he  was  a  yogi.  The  old  fellow 
did  not  look  at  me,  nor  did  the  bleared  eyes  give 
any  sign  of  intelligence.  Nevertheless  he  answered 
my  question. 

“  Of  what  avail  that  I  do  wonders  for  you  Who 
believe  not?”  he  asked,  and  his  voice  sounded 
cracked  and  far  off. 

“It  will  avail  thee  several  coins,  friend,”  I  an¬ 
swered,  “both  rupees  and  pais.  Reflect  that  there 
may  be  bucksheesh  in  store  for  thee,  and  do  a 
miracle.” 

“I  will  not  do  wonders  for  bucksheesh,”  said  the 
priest,  and  began  to  hobble  away.  Isaacs  stepped 


MR.  ISAACS. 


235 


lightly  to  his  side  and  whispered  something  in  his 
ear.  The  ancient  Brahmin  turned. 

“  Then  I  will  do  a  wonder  for  you,  but  I  want  no 
bucksheesh.  I  will  do  it  for  the  lady  with  white 
hair,  whose  face  resembles  Chunder.”  He  looked 
long  and  fixedly  at  Miss  Westonhaugh.  “Let  the 
sahib  log  come  with  me  a  stone’s  throw  from  the 
well,  and  let  one  sahib  call  his  servant  and  bid  him 
draw  water  that  he  may  wash  his  hands.  And  I 
will  do  this  wonder;  the  man  shall  not  draw  any 
water,  though  he  had  the  strength  of  Siva,  until  I 
say  the  word.”  So  we  moved  away  under  the  trees, 
and  I  shouted  for  Kiramat  Ali,  who  came  running 
down,  and  I  told  him  to  send  a  bhisti ,  a  water-carrier, 
with  his  leathern  bucket.  Then  we  waited.  Pres¬ 
ently  the  man  came,  with  bucket  and  rope. 

“Draw  water,  that  I  may  wash  my  hands,”  said  I. 

“Achhd,  sdhib,”  and  he  strode  to  the  well  and 
lowered  his  pail  by  the  rope.  The  priest  looked 
intently  at  him  as  he  shook  the  rope  to  turn  the 
bucket  over  and  let  it  fill ;  then  he  began  to  pull. 
The  bucket  seemed  to  be  caught.  He  jerked,  and 
then  bent  his  whole  weight  back,  drawing  the  rope 
across  the  edge  of  the  brickwork.  The  thing  was 
immovable.  He  seemed  astonished  and  looked  down 
into  the  well,  thinking  the  pail  was  caught  in  a  stone. 
I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  go  down  and  in¬ 
spect  the  thing.  No.  The  bucket  was  full  and  lying 
in  the  middle  of  the  round  sheet  of  water  at  the 
bottom  of  the  well.  The  man  tugged,  while  the 


236 


MR.  ISAACS. 


Brahmin  never  took  his  eyes,  now  bright  and  fiery, 
off  him.  I  went  back  to  where  they  all  stood.  The 
thing  had  lasted  five  minutes.  Then  the  priest’s 
lips  moved  silently. 

Instantly  the  strain  was  released  and  the  stout 
water-carrier  fell  headlong  backwards  on  the  grass, 
his  heels  in  the  air,  jerking  the  bucket  right  over  the 
edge  of  the  well.  He  bounded  to  his  feet  and  ran  up 
the  grove,  shouting  “  Bliut,  Bliut,”  “devils,  devils,” 
at  the  top  of  his  voice.  His  obstinacy  had  lasted  so 
long  as  the  bucket  would  not  move,  but  then  his 
terror  got  the  better  of  him  and  he  fled. 

“  Did  you  ever  see  anything  of  that  kind  before, 
Miss  Westonhaugh  ?  ”  I  inquired. 

“No  indeed;  have  you?  How  is  it  done?” 

“I  have  seen  similar  things  done,  but  not  often. 
There  are  not  many  of  them  that  know  how.  But 
I  cannot  tell  you  the  process  any  more  than  I  can 
explain  the  mango  trick,  which  belongs,  distantly, 
to  the  same  class  of  phenomena.” 

The  Brahmin,  whose  eyes  were  again  dim  and 
filmy,  turned  to  Isaacs. 

“  I  have  done  a  wonder  for  you.  I  will  also  tell 
you  a  saying.  You  have  done  wrong  in  not  taking 
the  advice  of  your  friend.  You  should  not  have 
come  forth  to  kill  the  king  of  game,  nor  have  brought 
the  white-haired  lady  into  the  tiger’s  jaws.  I  have 
spoken.  Peace  be  with  you.”  And  he  moved  away. 

“And  with  you  peace,  friend,”  answered  Isaacs 
mechanically,  but  as  I  looked  at  him  he  turned  white 
to  the  very  lips. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


237 


Miss  Westonhaugh  did  not  understand  the  lan¬ 
guage,  and  Isaacs  would  have  been  the  last  person  to 
translate  such  a  speech  as  the  Brahmin  had  made. 
We  turned  and  strolled  up  the  hill,  and  presently  I 
bethought  me  of  some  errand,  and  left  them  together 
under  the  trees.  They  were  so  happy  and  so  beauti¬ 
ful  together,  the  fair  lily  from  the  English  dale  and 
the  deep  red  rose  of  Persian  Gulistan.  The  sun 
slanted  low  through  the  trees  and  sank  in  rose- 
coloured  haze,  and  the  moon,  now  just  at  the  half, 
began  to  shine  out  softly  through  the  mangoes,  and 
still  the  lovers  walked,  pacing  slowly  to  and  fro  near 
the  well.  No  wonder  they  dallied  long;  it  was 
their  last  evening  together,  and  I  doubted  not  that 
Isaacs  was  telling  her  of  his  sudden  departure,  neces- 

r 

sary  for  reasons  which  I  knew  he  would  not  explain 
to  her  or  to  any  one  else.  * 

At  last  we  all  assembled  in  the  dining-tent.  Mr. 
Currie  Ghyrkins  was  among  the  first,  and  his  niece 
was  the  last  to  enter  the  room.  He  was  glorious  that 
evening,  his  kindly  red  face  beamed  on  every  one, 
and  he  carried  himself  like  a  victorious  general  at 
a  ladies’  tea-party.  He  had  reason  to  be  happy r  and 
his  jerky  good  spirits  were  needed  to  counterbalance 
the  deep  melancholy  that  seemed  to  have  settled  upon 
his  niece.  The  colour  was  gone  from  her  cheeks,  and 
her  dark  eyes,  heavily  fringed  by  the  black  brows 
and  lashes,  shone  out  strangely;  the  contrast  between 
the  white  flaxen  hair,  drawn  back  in  simple  massive 
waves  like  a  Greek  statue,  and  the  broad  level  eyes 


288 


MR.  ISAACS. 


as  dark  as  niglit,  was  almost  startling  this  evening  in 
the  singularity  of  its  beauty.  She  sat  like  a  queenly 
marble  at  the  end  of  the  table,  not  silent,  by  any 
means,  but  so  evidently  out  of  spirits  that  John 
Westonliaugh,  who  did  not  know  that  Isaacs  was 
going  in  the  morning,  and  would  not  have  supposed 
that  his  sister  could  care  so  much,  if  he  had  known, 
remarked  upon  her  depression. 

“  What  is  the  matter,  Katharine  ?  ”  he  asked  kindly. 
“ Have  you  a  headache  this  evening? ”  She  was  just 
then  staring  rather  blankly  into  space. 

“Oil  no,”  she  said,  trying  to  smile.  “I  was 
thinking.” 

“Ah,”  said  Mr.  Ghyrkins  merrily,  “that  is  why 
you  look  so  unlike  yourself,  my  dear!”  And  he 
laughed  at  his  rough  little  joke. 

“  Do  I  ?  ”  asked  the  girl  absently. 

But  Ghyrkins  was  not  to  be  repressed,  and  as  Kil¬ 
dare  and  the  Pegnugger  man  were  gay  and  wide 
awake,  the  dinner  was  not  as  dull  as  might  have  been 
expected.  When  it  was  over,  Isaacs  announced  his 
intention  of  leaving  early  the  next  morning.  V ery 
urgent  business  recalled  him  suddenly,  he  explained. 
A  messenger  had  arrived  just  before  dinner.  He  must 
leave  without  fail  in  the  morning.  Miss  Weston- 
haugli  of  course  was  forewarned;  but  the  others  were 
not.  Lord  Steepleton  Kildare,  in  the  act  of  light¬ 
ing  a  cheroot,  dropped  the  vesuvian  incontinently, 
and  stood  staring  at  Isaacs  with  an  indescribable 
expression  of  empty  wonder  in  his  face,  while  the 


MR.  ISAACS. 


239 


match  sputtered  and  smouldered  and  died  away  in 
the  grass  by  the  door.  John  Westonhaugh,  who 
liked  Isaacs  sincerely,  and  had  probably  contem¬ 
plated  the  possibility  of  the  latter  marrying  Katha¬ 
rine,  looked  sorry  at  first,  and  then  a  half  angry 
expression  crossed  his  face,  which  softened  instantly 
again.  Currie  Ghyrkins  swore  loudly  that  it  was 
out  of  the  question  —  that  it  would  break  up  the 
party  —  that  he  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  so  on. 

“I  must  go, ”  said  Isaacs  quietly.  “It  is  a  very 
serious  matter.  I  am  sorry  —  more  sorry  than  I  can 
tell  you;  but  I  must.” 

“But  you  cannot,  you  know.  Damn  it,  sir,  }mu 
are  the  life  of  the  party,  you  know!  Come,  come, 
this  will  never  do!  ” 

“My  dear  sir,”  said  Isaacs,  addressing  Ghyrkins, 
“  if,  when  you  were  about  to  fire  this  morning  to  save 
that  poor  devil’s  life,  I  had  begged  you  not  to  shoot, 
would  you  have  complied?” 

“  Why,  of  course  not,  ”  ejaculated  Ghyrkins  angrily. 

“  W ell,  neither  can  I  comply,  though  I  would  give 
anything  to  stay  with  you  all.” 

“But  nobody’s  life  depends  on  your  going  away 
to-morrow  morning.  What  do  you  mean?  The 
deuce  and  all,  you  know,  I  don’t  understand  you  a 
hit.” 

“  I  cannot  tell  you,  Mr.  Ghyrkins ;  but  something 
depends  on  my  going,  which  is  of  as  great  impor¬ 
tance  to  the  person  concerned  as  life  itself.  Believe 
me,”  he  said,  going  near  to  the  old  gentleman  and 


240 


MR.  ISAACS. 


laying  a  hand  on  his  arm,  “I  do  not  go  wil- 
lingly.” 

“Well,  I  hope  not,  I  am  sure,”  said  Ghyrkins 
gruffly,  though  yielding.  “If  you  will,  you  will, 
and  there’s  no  holding  you;  but  we  are  all  very 
sorry.  That’s  all.  Mahmoud!  bring  fire,  you  lazy 
pigling,  that  I  may  smoke.”  And  he  threw  himself 
into  a  chair,  the  very  creaking  of  the  cane  wicker 
expressing  annoyance  and  dissatisfaction. 

So  there  was  an  end  of  it,  and  Isaacs  strode  off 
through  the  moonlight  to  his  quarters,  to  make  some 
arrangement,  I  supposed.  But  he  did  not  come  back. 
Miss  Westonliaugh  retired  also  to  her  tent,  and  no 
one  was  surprised  to  see  her  go.  Kildare  rose  pres¬ 
ently  and  asked  if  I  would  not  stroll  to  the  well,  or 
anywhere,  it  was  such  a  jolly  night.  I  went  with 
him,  and  arm  in  arm  we  walked  slowly  down.  The 
young  moon  was  bright  among  the  mango-trees,  strik¬ 
ing  the  shining  leaves,  that  reflected  a  strange  green¬ 
ish  light.  We  moved  leisurely,  and  spoke  little. 
I  understood  Kildare’s  silence  well  enough,  and  I 
had  nothing  to  say.  The  ground  was  smooth  and 
even,  for  the  men  had  cut  the  grass  close,  and  the 
little  humped  cow  that  belonged  to  the  old  Brahmin 
cropped  all  she  could  get  at. 

We  skirted  round  the  edge  of  the  grove,  intending 
to  go  back  to  the  tents  another  way.  Suddenly  I 
saw  something  in  front  that  arrested  my  attention. 
Two  figures,  some  thirty  yards  away.  They  stood 
quite  still,  turned  from  us,  A  man  and  a  woman 


MR.  ISAACS. 


241 


between  the  trees,  an  opening  in  the  leaves  just  let¬ 
ting  a  ray  of  moonlight  slip  through  on  them.  His 
arm  around  her,  the  tall  lissome  figure  of  her  bent, 
and  her  head  resting  on  his  shoulder.  I  have  good 
eyes  and  was  not  mistaken,  but  I  trusted  Kildare 
had  not  seen.  A  quick  twitch  of  his  arm,  hanging 
carelessly  through  mine,  told  me  the  mischief  was 
done  before  I  could  turn  his  attention.  By  a  com¬ 
mon  instinct  we  wheeled  to  the  left,  and  passing 
into  the  open  strolled  back  in  the  direction  whence 
we  had  come.  I  did  not  look  at  Kildare,  but  after 
a  minute  he  began  to  talk  about  the  moonlight  and 
tigers,  and  whether  tigers  were  ever  shot  by  moon¬ 
light,  and  altogether  was  rather  incoherent;  but  I 
took  up  the  question,  and  we  talked  bravely  till  we 
got  back  to  the  dining-tent,  where  we  sat  down 
again,  secretly  wishing  we  had  not  gone  for  a  stroll 
after  all.  In  a  few  minutes  Isaacs  came  from  his 
tent,  which  he  must  have  entered  from  the  other 
side.  He  was  perfectly  at  his  ease,  and  at  once 
began  talking  about  the  disagreeable  journey  he  had 
before  him.  Then,  after  a  time,  we  broke  up,  and 
he  said  good-bye  to  every  one  in  turn,  and  Ghyrkins 
told  John  to  call  his  sister,  if  she  were  still  visible, 
for  “Mr.  Isaacs  wanted  to  say  good-bye.”  So  she 
came  and  took  his  hand,  and  made  a  simple  speech 
about  “meeting  again  before  long,”  as  she  stood  with 
her  uncle ;  and  my  friend  and  I  went  away  to  our 
tent. 

We  sat  long  in  the  conndt.  Isaacs  did  not  seem  to 


R 


242 


MR.  ISAACS. 


want  rest,  and  I  certainly  did  not.  For  the  first  half 
hour  he  was  engaged  in  giving  directions  to  the  faith¬ 
ful  Narain,  who  moved  about  noiselessly  among  the 
portmanteaus  and  gun-cases  and  boots  which  strewed 
the  floor.  At  last  all  was  settled  for  the  start  before 
dawn,  and  he  turned  to  me. 

“  We  shall  meet  again  in  Simla,  Griggs,  of  course  ?  ” 

“I  hope  so.  Of  course  we  shall,  unless  you  are 
killed  by  those  fellows  at  Keitung.  I  would  not 
trust  them.” 

“  I  do  not  trust  them  in  the  least,  hut  I  have  an  all- 
powerful  ally  in  Ram  Lai.  Did  you  not  think  it 
very  singular  that  the  Brahmin  should  know  all 
about  Ram  Lai’s  warning?  and  that  he  should  have 
the  same  opinion  ?  ” 

“We  live  in  a  country  where  nothing  should 
astonish  us,  as  I  remember  saying  to  you  a  fortnight 
ago,  when  we  first  met,”  I  answered.  “That  the 
Brahmin  possesses  some  knowledge  of  yog-vidya  is 
more  clearly  shown  by  his  speech  about  Ram  Lai  than 
by  that  ridiculous  trick  with  my  water-carrier.” 

“You  are  not  easily  astonished,  Griggs.  But  I 
agree  with  you  as  to  that.  I  am  still  at  a  loss  to 
understand  why  I  should  not  have  come  or  let  the 
others  come.  I  was  startled  at  the  Brahmin.” 

“I  saw  you  were;  you  were  as  white  as  a  sheet, 
and  yet  you  turned  up  your  nose  at  Ram  Lai  when 
he  told  you  not  to  come.” 

“  The  Brahmin  said  something  more  than  Ram 
Lai.  He  said  I  should  not  have  brought  the  white- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


243 


haired  lady  into  the  tiger’s  jaws.  I  saw  that  the  first 
warning  had  been  on  her  account,  and  I  suppose  the 
impression  of  possible  danger  for  her  frightened  me.” 

“  It  would  not  have  frightened  you  three  weeks  ago 
about  any  woman,”  I  said.  “It  appears  to  me  that 
your  ideas  in  certain  quarters  have  undergone  some 
little  change.  You  are  as  different  from  the  Isaacs 
I  knew  at  first  as  Philip  drunk  was  different  from 
Philip  sober.  Such  is  human  nature — •scoffing  at 
women  the  one  day,  and  risking  life  and  soul  for 
their  whims  the  next.” 

“  I  hate  your  reflections  about  the  human  kind, 
Griggs,  and  I  do  not  like  your  way  of  looking  at 
women.  You  hate  women  so!  ” 

“No.  You  like  my  descriptions  of  the  ‘ideal 
creatures  I  rave  about  ’  much  better,  it  seems.  Upon 
my  soul,  friend,  if  you  want  a  criterion  of  yourself, 
take  this  conversation.  A  fortnight  ago  to-day  —  or 
to-morrow,  will  it  he  ?  —  I  was  lecturing  you  about 
the  way  to  regard  women ;  begging  you  to  consider 
that  they  had  souls  and  were  capable  of  loving,  as 
well  as  of  being  loved.  And  here  you  are  accusing 
me  of  hating  the  whole  sex,  and  without  the  slightest 
provocation  on  my  part,  either.  Here  is  Birnam 
wood  coming  to  Dunsinane  with  a  vengeance!  ” 

“Oh,  I  don’t  deny  it.  I  don’t  pretend  to  argue 
about  it.  I  have  changed  a  good  deal  in  the  last 
month.”  He  pensively  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other 
as  he  lay  back  on  the  long  chair  and  pulled  at  his 
slipper.  “  I  suppose  I  have  —  changed  a  good  deal.” 


244 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“No  wonder.  I  presume  your  views  of  immortal¬ 
ity,  the  future  state  of  the  fair  sex,  and  the  appli¬ 
cation  of  transcendental  analysis  to  matrimony,  all 
changed  about  the  same  time?” 

“Don’t  be  unreasonable,”  he  answered.  “It  all 
dates  from  that  evening  when  I  had  that  sinuglar  fit 
and  the  vision  I  related  to  you.  I  have  never  been 
the  same  man  since;  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  now 
believe  women  to  be  much  more  adorable  than  you 
painted  them,  and  not  half  enough  adored.”  Sud¬ 
denly  he  dropped  the  extremely  English  manner 
which  he  generally  affected  in  the  idiom  and  con¬ 
struction  of  his  speech,  and  dropped  hack  into  some¬ 
thing  more  like  his  own  language.  “  The  star  that 
was  over  my  life  is  over  it  no  longer.  I  have  no  life- 
star  any  longer.  The  jewel  of  the  southern  sky  with¬ 
draws  his  light,  paling  before  the  white  gold  from 
the  northern  land.  The  gold  that  shall  be  mine 
through  all  the  cycles  of  the  sun,  the  gold  that 
neither  man  nor  monarch  shall  take  from  me.  What 
have  I  to  do  with  stars  in  heaven  ?  Is  not  my  star 
come  down  to  earth  to  abide  with  me  through  life? 
And  when  life  is  over  and  the  scroll  is  full,  shall  not 
my  star  bear  me  hence,  beyond  the  fiery  foot-bridge, 
beyond  the  paradise  of  my  people  and  its  senseless 
sensuality  of  houris  and  strong  wine?  Beyond  the 
very  memory  of  limited  and  bounded  life,  to  that  life 
eternal  where  there  is  neither  limit,  nor  bound,  nor 
sorrow?  Shall  our  two  souls  not  unite  and  be  one 
soul  to  roam  through  the  countless  circles  of  revolv- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


245 


ing  outer  space?  Not  .through  years,  or  for  times, 
or  for  ages  —  but  for  ever?  The  light  of  life  is 
woman,  the  love  of  life  is  the  love  of  woman;  the 
light  that  pales  not,  the  life  that  cannot  die,  the  love 
that  can  know  not  any  ending;  my  light,  my  life, 
and  my  love  !  ”  His  whole  soul  was  in  his  voice, 
and  his  whole  heart;  the  twining  white  fingers,  the 
half-closed  eyes,  and  the  passionate  quivering  tone, 
told  all  he  had  left  unsaid.  It  was  surely  a  high  and 
a  noble  thing  that  he  felt,  worthy  of  the  man  in  his 
beauty  of  mind  and  body.  He  loved  an  ideal,  revealed 
to  him,  as  he  thought,  in  the  shape  of  the  fair  English 
girl ;  he  worshipped  his  ideal  through  her,  without  a 
thought  that  he  could  be  mistaken.  Happy  man ! 
Perhaps  he  had  a  better  chance  of  going  through  life 
without  any  cruel  revelation  of  his  mistake  than  falls 
to  the  lot  of  most  lovers,  for  she  was  surpassingly 
beautiful,  and  most  good  and  true  hearted.  But  are 
not  people  always  mistaken  who  think  to  find  the 
perfect  comprehended  in  the  imperfect,  the  infinite 
enchained  and  made  tangible  in  the  finite  ?  Bah ! 
The  same  old  story,  the  same  old  vicious  circle,  the 
everlastingly  recurring  mathematical  vieAV  of  things 
that  cannot  be  treated  mathematically;  the  fruitless 
attempt  to  measure  the  harmonious  circle  of  the  soul 
by  the  angular  square  of  the  book.  What  poor 
things  our  minds  are  after  all.  We  have  but  one 
way  of  thinking  derived  from  what  we  know,  and 
we  incontinently  apply  it  to  things  of  which  we  can 
know  nothing,  and  then  we  quarrel  with  the  result, 


246 


MR.  ISAACS. 


which  is  a  mere  reductio  ad  dbsurdum ,  showing  how 
utterly  false  and  meagre  are  our  hypotheses,  prem¬ 
isses,  and  so-called  axioms.  Confucius,  who  began 
his  system  with  the  startling  axiom  that  “man  is 
good,”  arrived  at  much  more  really  serviceable  con¬ 
clusions  than  Schopenhauer  and  all  the  pessimists 
put  together.  Meanwhile,  Isaacs  was  in  love,  and, 
I  supposed,  expected  me  to  say  something  apprecia¬ 
tive. 

“My  dear  friend,”  I  began,  “it  is  a  rare  pleasure 
to  hear  any  one  talk  like  that;  it  refreshes  a  man’s 
belief  in  human  nature,  and  enthusiasm,  and  all 
kinds  of  things.  I  talked  like  that  some  time  ago 
because  you  would  not.  I  think  you  are  a  most  satis¬ 
factory  convert.” 

“I  am  indeed  a  convert.  I  would  not  have  be¬ 
lieved  it  possible,  and  now  I  cannot  believe  that  I 
ever  thought  differently.  I  suppose  it  is  the  way 
with  all  converts  —  in  religion  as  well  —  and  with 
all  people  who  are  taken  up  by  a  fair-winged  genius 
from  an  arid  desert  and  set  down  in  a  garden  of 
roses.”  He  could  not  long  confine  himself  to  ordi¬ 
nary  language.  “  And  yet  the  hot  sand  of  the  desert, 
and  the  cool  of  the  night,  and  the  occasional  patch  of 
miserable,  languishing  green,  with  the  little  kindly 
spring  in  the  camel-trodden  oasis,  seemed  all  so  de¬ 
lightful  in  the  past  life  that  one  was  quite  content, 
never  suspecting  the  existence  of  better  things.  But 
now  —  I  could  almost  laugh  to  think  of  it.  I  stand 
in  the  midst  of  the  garden  that  is  filled  with  all 


ME.  ISAACS. 


247 


things  fair,  and  the  tree  of  life  is  beside  me,  blos¬ 
soming  straight  and  broad  with  the  flowers  that 
wither  not,  and  the  fruit  that  is  good  to  the  parched 
lips  and  the  thirsty  spirit.  And  the  garden  is  for 
us  to  dAvell  in  now,  and  the  eternity  of  the  heavenly 
spheres  is  ours  hereafter/’  He  was  all  on  lire  again. 
I  kept  silence  for  some  time ;  and  his  hands  unfolded, 
and  he  raised  them  and  clasped  them  under  his  head, 
and  drew  a  deep  long  breath,  as  if  to  taste  the  new 
life  that  was  in  him. 

“Forgive  my  bringing  you  down  to  earth  again,” 
I  said  after  a  while,  “  but  have  you  made  all  necessary 
arrangements  ?  Is  there  anything  I  can  do,  after  you 
are  gone?  Anything  to  be  said  to  these  good  people, 
if  they  question  me  about  your  sudden  departure  ?  ” 

“  Yes.  I  was  forgetting.  If  you  Avill  be  so  kind,  I 
wish  you  would  see  the  expedition  out,  and  take 
charge  of  the  expenses.  There  are  some  bags  of 
rupees  somewhere  among  my  traps.  Narain  knows. 
I  shall  not  take  him  with  me  —  or,  no;  on  second 
thoughts  I  will  hand  you  over  the  money,  and  take 
him  to  Simla.  Then,  about  the  other  thing.  Do 
not  tell  any  one  where  I  have  gone,  unless  it  be  Miss 
Westonhaugh,  and  use  your  own  discretion  about 
her.  We  shall  all  be  in  Simla  in  ten  days,  and  I  do 
not  want  this  thing  known,  as  you  may  imagine.  I 
do  not  think  there  is  anything  else,  thanks.”  He 
paused,  as  if  thinking.  “Yes,  there  is  one  more 
consideration.  If  anything  out  of  the  way  should 
occur  in  this  transaction  with  Baithopoor,  I  should 


248 


MR.  ISAACS. 


want  your  assistance,  if  you  will  give  it.  Would 
you  mind?  ” 

“  Of  course  not.  Anything - ” 

“  In  that  case,  if  Ram  Lai  thinks  you  are  wanted, 
he  will  send  a  swift  messenger  to  you  with  a  letter 
signed  hy  me,  in  the  Persian  shilcast —  which  you 
read. — ■  Will  you  come  hy  the  way  he  will  direct  you, 
if  I  send?  He  will  answer  for  your  safety.” 

“I  will  come,”  I  said,  though  I  thought  it  was 
rather  rash  of  me,  who  am  a  cautious  man,  to  trust 
my  life  in  the  hands  of  a  shadowy  person  like  Ram 
Lai,  who  seemed  to  come  and  go  in  strange  ways, 
and  was  in  communication  with  suspicious  old  Brah¬ 
min  jugglers.  But  I  trusted  Isaacs  better  than  his 
adept  friend. 

“I  suppose,”  I  said,  vaguely  hoping  there  might 
yet  be  a  possibility  of  detaining  him,  “that  there 
is  no  way  of  doing  this  business  so  that  you  could 
remain  here.” 

“  No,  friend  Griggs.  If  there  were  any  other  wa}^, 
I  would  not  go  now.  I  would  not  go  to-day,  of  all 
days  in  the  year  —  of  all  days  in  my  life.  There 
is  no  other  way,  by  the  grave  of  my  father,  on  whom 
be  the  peace  of  Allah.”  So  we  went  to  bed. 

At  four  o’clock  Narain  waked  us,  and  in  twenty 
minutes  Isaacs  was  on  horseback.  I  had  ordered  a 
tat  to  be  in  readiness  for  me,  thinking  I  would  ride 
with  him  an  hour  or  two  in  the  cool  of  the  morning. 
So  we  passed  along  by  the  quiet  tents,  Narain  dis¬ 
appearing  in  the  manner  peculiar  to  Hindoo  servants, 


MR.  ISAACS. 


249 


to  be  found  at  the  end  of  the  day’s  march,  smiling  as 
ever.  The  young  moon  had  set  some  time  before, 
but  the  stars  were  bright,  though  it  was  dark  under 
the  trees. 

Twenty  yards  beyond  the  last  tent,  a  dark  figure 
swept  suddenly  out  from  the  blackness  and  laid  a 
hand  on  Isaacs’  rein.  He  halted  and  bent  oyer,  and 
I  heard  some  whispering.  It  only  lasted  a  moment, 
and  the  figure  shot  away  again.  I  was  sure  I  heard 
something  like  a  kiss,  in  the  gloom,  and  there  was 
a  most  undeniable  smell  of  roses  in  the  air.  I  held 
my  peace,  though  I  was  astonished.  I  could  not 
have  believed  her  capable  of  it.  Lying  in  wait  in 
the  dusk  of  the  morning  to  give  her  lover  a  kiss  and 
a  rose  and  a  parting  word.  She  must  have  taken  me 
for  his  servant  in  the  dark. 

“Griggs,”  said  Isaacs  as  we  parted  some  six  or 
seven  miles  farther  on,  — •  “  an  odd  thing  happened 
this  morning.  I  have  left  something  more  in  your 
keeping  than  money.” 

“I  know.  Trust  me.  Good-bye,”  and  lie  cantered 
off. 

I  confess  I  was  very  dejected  and  low-spirited 
when  I  came  back  into  camp.  My  acquaintance  with 
Isaacs,  so  suddenly  grown  into  intimacy,  had  be¬ 
come  a  part  of  my  life.  I  felt  a  sort  of  devotion  to 
him  that  I  had  never  felt  for  any  man  in  my  life 
before.  I  would  rather  have  gone  with  him  to  Kei- 
tung,  for  a  presentiment  told  me  there  was  trouble 
in  the  wind.  He  had  not  talked  to  me  about  the 


250 


MR.  ISAACS. 


Baithopoor  intrigue,  for  everything  was  as  nmcli  set¬ 
tled  beforehand  as  it  was  possible  to  settle  anything. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  said,  for  all  that  was  to 
come  was  action  ;  but  I  knew  Isaacs  distrusted  the 
maharajah,  and  that  without  Bam  Lai’s  assistance  — 
of  whatever  nature  that  might  prove  to  be  —  he 
would  not  have  ventured  to  go  alone  to  such  a  tryst. 

When  I  returned  the  camp  was  all  alive,  for  it  was 
nearly  seven  o’clock.  Kildare  and  the  collector,  my 
servant  said,  had  gone  off  on  tats  to  shoot  some  small 
game.  Mr.  Ghyrkins  was  occupied  with  the  shikar - 
ries  in  the  stretching  and  dressing  of  the  skin  he  had 
won  the  previous  day.  Neither  Miss  Westonhaugh 
nor  her  brother  had  been  seen.  So  I  dressed  and 
rested  myself  and  had  some  tea,  and  sat  wondering 
what  the  camp  would  be  like  without  Isaacs,  who, 
to  me  and  to  one  other  person,  was  emphatically,  as 
Ghyrkins  had  said  the  night  before,  the  life  of  the 
party.  The  weather  was  not  so  warm  as  on  the  pre¬ 
vious  day,  and  I  was  debating  whether  I  should  not 
try  and  induce  the  younger  men  to  go  and  stic  k  a 
pig  —  the  sliikarry  said  there  were  plenty  in  some 
place  he  knew  of  —  or  whether  I  should  settle  myself 
in  the  dining-tent  for  a  long  day  with  my  books, 
when  the  arrival  of  a  mounted  messenger  with  some 
letters  from  the  distant  post-office  decided  me  in 
favour  of  the  more  peaceful  disposition  of  my  time. 
So  I  glanced  at  the  papers,  and  assured  myself  that 
the  English  were  going  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
mire  of  difficulties  and  reckless  expenditure  that 


MR.  ISAACS. 


251 


characterised  their  campaign  in  Afghanistan  in  the 
autumn  of  1879;  and  when  I  had  assured  myself, 
furthermore,  by  the  perusal  of  a  request  for  the 
remittance  of  twenty  pounds,  that  my  nephew,  the 
only  relation,  male  or  female,  that  I  have  in  the 
world,  had  not  come  to  the  untimely  death  he  so 
richly  deserved,  I  fell  to  considering  what  book  I 
should  read.  And  from  one  thing  to  another,  I 
found  myself  established  about  ten  o’clock  at  the 
table  in  the  dining-tent,  with  Miss  Westonhaugh 
at  one  side,  worsted  work,  writing  materials  and 
all,  just  as  she  had  been  at  the  same  table  a  week 
or  so  before.  At  her  request  I  had  continued  my 
writing  when  she  came  in.  I  was  finishing  off  a 
column  of  a  bloodthirsty  article  for  the  Howler; 
it  probably  would  come  near  enough  to  the  mark, 
for  in  India  you  may  print  a  leader  anywhere  within 
a  month  of  its  being  written,  and  if  it  was  hot 
enough  to  begin  with,  it  will  still  answer  the  purpose. 
Journalism  is  not  so  rapid  in  its  requirements  as  in 
New  York,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  more  lucrative. 

“Mr.  Griggs,  are  you  very  busy?” 

“Oh  dear,  no  —  nothing  to  speak  of,”  I  went  on 
writing  —  the  unprecedented  —  folly  —  the  —  blatant 
—  charlatanism - 

“  Mr.  Griggs,  do  you  understand  these  things  ?  ” 

- Lord  Beaconsfield’s  —  “I  think  so,  Miss  Wes¬ 
tonhaugh” —  Afghan  policy -  There,  I  thought, 

I  think  that  would  rouse  Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins,  if  he 
ever  saw  it,  which  I  trust  he  never  will.  I  had 


252 


MR.  ISAACS. 


done,  and  I  folded  the  numbered  sheets  in  an  oblong 
bundle. 

“I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Westonhaugh;  I  was 
just  finishing  a  sentence.  I  am  quite  at  your  service.  ” 

“Oh  no!  I  see  you  are  too  busy.” 

“Not  in  the  least,  I  assure  you.  Is  it  that  tangled 
skein?  Let  me  help  you.” 

“  Oh  thank  you.  It  is  so  tiresome,  and  I  am  not 
in  the  least  inclined  to  be  industrious.” 

I  took  the  wool  and  set  to  work.  It  was  very  eas}r, 
after  all ;  I  pulled  the  loops  through,  and  back  again 
and  through  from  the  other  side,  and  I  found  the 
ends,  and  began  to  wind  it  up  on  a  piece  of  paper. 
It  is  singular,  though,  how  the  unaided  wool  can  tie 
itself  into  every  kind  of  a  knot  —  reef,  carrick  bend, 
bowline,  bowline  in  a  bight,  not  to  mention  a  variety 
of  hitches  and  indescribable  perversions  of  entangle¬ 
ment.  I  was  getting  on  very  well,  though.  I  looked 
up  at  her  face,  pale  and  weary  with  a  sleepless  night, 
but  beautiful  —  ah  yes  —  beautiful  beyond  compare. 
She  smiled  faintly. 

“You  are  very  clever  with  your  fingers.  Where 
did  you  learn  it?  Have  you  a  sister  who  makes  you 
wind  her  wool  for  you  at  home?” 

“No.  I  have  no  sister.  I  went  to  sea  once  upon 
a  time.” 

“Were  you  ever  in  the  navy,  Mr.  Griggs?” 

“Oh  no.  I  went  before  the  mast.” 

“  But  you  would  not  learn  to  unravel  wool  before 
the  mast.  I  suppose  your  mother  taught  you  when 
you  were  small —  if  you  ever  were  small.” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


253 


“  I  never  had  a  mother  that  I  can  remember  —  I 
learned  to  do  all  those  things  at  sea.” 

“Forgive  me,”  she  said,  guessing  she  had  struck 
some  tender  chord  in  my  existence.  “  What  an  odd 
life  you  must  have  had.” 

“  Perhaps-.  I  never  had  any  relations  that  I  can 
remember,  except  a  brother,  much  older  than  I.  He 
died  years  ago,  and  his  son  is  my  only  living  relation. 
I  was  born  in  Italy.” 

“  But  when  did  you  learn  so  many  things  ?  You 
seem  to  know  every  language  under  the  sun.” 

“I  had  a  good  education  when  I  got  ashore. 
Some  one  was  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  had  learned 
Latin  and  Greek  in  the  common  school  in  Borne 
before  I  ran  away  to  sea.” 

I  answered  her  questions  reluctantly.  I  did  not 
want  to  talk  about  my  history,  especially  to  a  girl 
like  her.  I  suppose  she  saw  my  disinclination,  for 
as  I  handed  her  the  card  with  the  wool  neatly  wound 
on  it,  she  thanked  me  and  presently  changed  the  sub¬ 
ject,  or  at^ least  shifted  the  ground. 

“  There  is  something  so  free  about  the  life  of  an 
adventurer  —  I  mean  a  man  who  wanders  about  doing 
brave  things.  If  I  were  a  man  I  would  be  an  adven¬ 
turer  like  you.” 

“Not  half  so  much  of  an  adventurer,  as  you  call 
it,  as  our  friend  who  went  off  this  morning.” 

It  was  the  first  mention  of  Isaacs  since  his  depart¬ 
ure.  I  had  said  the  thing  inadvertently,  for  I  would 
not  have  done  anything  to  increase  her  trouble  for 


254 


MR.  ISAACS. 


the  world.  She  leaned  hack,  dropping  her  hands 
with  her  work  in  her  lap  and  stared  straight  out 
through  the  doorway,  as  pale  as  death  —  pale  as  only 
fair-skinned  people  are  when  they  are  ill,  or  hurt. 
She  sat  quite  still.  I  wondered  if  she  were  ill,  or  if 
it  were  only  Isaacs’  going  that  had  wrought  this 
change  in  her  brilliant  looks.  “  Would  you  like  me 
to  read  something  to  you,  Miss  Westonhaugh? 
Here  is  a  comparatively  new  book —  The  Light  of 
Asia ,  by  Mr.  Edwin  Arnold.  It  is  a  poem  about 
India.  Would  it  give  you  any  pleasure?”  She 
guessed  the  kind  intention,  and  a  little  shadow  of  a 
smile  passed  over  her  lips. 

“You  are  so  kind,  Mr.  Griggs^.  Please,  you  are  so 
very  kind.” 

I  began  to  read,  and  read  on  and  on  through  the 
exquisite  rise  and  fall  of  the  stanzas,  through  the 
beautiful  clear  high  thoughts  which  seem  to  come 
as  a  breath  and  a  breeze  from  an  unattainable  heaven, 
from  the  Nirvana  we  all  hope  for  in  our  inmost 
hearts,  whatever  our  confession  of  faith.  And  the 
poor  girl  was  soothed,  and  touched  and  lulled  by  the 
music  of  thought  and  the  sigh  of  verse  that  is  in 
the  poem;  and  the  morning  passed.  I  suppose  the 
quiet  and  the  poetry  wrought  up  in  her  the  feeling  of 
confidence  she  felt  in  me,  as  being  her  lover’s  friend, 
for  after  I  had  paused  a  minute  or  two,  seeing  some 
one  coming  toward  the  tent,  she  said  quite  simply  — 

“Where  is  he  gone?” 

“  He  is  gone  to  do  a  very  noble  deed.  He  is  gone 


MR.  ISAACS. 


255 


to  save  the  life  of  a  man  lie  never  saw.”  A  bright 
light  came  into  her  face,  and  all  the  chilled  heart’s 
blood,  driven  from  her  cheeks  by  the  Aveariness  of 
her  first  parting,  rushed  joyously  back,  and  for  one 
moment  there  dAvelt  on  her  features  the  glory  and 
bloom  of  the  love  and  happiness  that  had  been  hers 
all  day  yesterday,  that  would  be  hers  again  —  when  ? 
Poor  Miss  Westonhaugh,  it  seemed  so  long  to  wait. 

The  day  passed  somehoAV,  but  the  dinner  was  dis¬ 
mal.  Miss  Westonhaugh  was  evidently  far  from 
well,  and  I  could  not  conceive  that  the  pain  of  a  tem¬ 
porary  parting  should  make  so  sudden  a  change  in 
one  so  perfectly  strong  and  healthy  —  even  were  her 
nature  ever  so  sensitive.  Kildare  and  the  Pegnug- 
ger  magistrate  tried  to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  the 
party,  but  John  Westonhaugh  Avas  anxious  about 
his  sister,  and  even  old  Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins  Avas 
beginning  to  fancy  there  must  he  something  Avrong. 
We  sat  smoking  outside,  and  the  young  girl  refused 
to  leave  us,  though  John  begged  her  to.  As  Ave  sat, 
it  may  have  been  half  an  hour  after  dinner,  a  mes¬ 
senger  came  galloping  up  in  hot  haste,  and  leaping  to 
the  ground  asked  for  “Gurregis  Sahib,”  with  the 
usual  native  pronunciation  of  my  euphonious  name. 
Being  informed,  he  salaamed  Ioav  and  handed  me  a 
letter,  Avhich  I  took  to  the  light.  It  Avas  in  shifcast 
Persian,  and  signed  “  Abdul  Hafiz-ben-Isak. ”  “  Ram 

Lai,”  he  said,  “has  met  me  unexpectedly,  and  sends 
you  this  by  his  oavii  means,  which  are  SAvift  as  the 
flight  of  the  eagle.  It  is  indispensable  that  you  meet 


256 


MR.  ISAACS. 


us  below  Keitung,  towards  Sultanpoor,  on  the  after¬ 
noon  of  the  day  when  the  moon  is  full.  Travel  by 
Julinder  and  Sultanpoor;  you  will  easily  overtake 
me,  since  I  go  by  Simla.  For  friendship’s  sake,  for 
love’s  sake,  come.  It  is  life  and  death.  Give  the 
money  to  the  Irishman.  Peace  be  with  you.” 

I  sighed  a  sigh  of  the  most  undetermined  descrip¬ 
tion.  Was  I  glad  to  rejoin  my  friend?  or  was  I 
pained  to  leave  the  woman  he  loved  in  her  present 
condition?  I  hardly  knew. 

“I  think  we  had  all  better  go  back  to  Simla,”  said 
John,  when  I  explained  that  the  most  urgent  busi¬ 
ness  called  me  away  at  dawn. 

“There  will  be  none  of  us  left  soon,”  said  Gliyr- 
kins  quite  quietly  and  mournfully. 

I  found  means  to  let  Miss  Westonhaugh  under¬ 
stand  where  I  was  going.  I  gave  Kildare  the  money 
in  charge. 

In  the  dark  of  the  morning,  as  I  cleared  the  tents, 
the  same  shadow  I  had  seen  before  shot  out  and  laid 
a  hand  on  my  rein.  I  halted  on  the  same  spot  where 
Isaacs  had  drawn  rein  twenty-four  hours  before. 

“  Give  him  this  from  me.  God  be  with  you !  ”  She 
was  gone  in  a  moment,  leaving  a  small  package  in 
my  right  hand.  I  thrust  it  in  my  bosom  and  rode 
away. 

“How  she  loves  him,”  I  thought,  wondering 
greatly. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


257 


CHAPTER  XII. 

It  was  not  an  agreeable  journey  I  had  undertaken. 
In  order  to  reach  the  inaccessible  spot,  chosen  by 
Isaacs  for  the  scene  of  Sliere  Ali’s  liberation,  in  time 
to  be  of  any  use,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
travel  by  a  more  direct  and  arduous  route  than  that 
taken  by  my  friend.  He  had  returned  to  Simla,  and 
by  his  carefully  made  arrangements  would  be  able  to 
reach  Keitung,  or  the  spot  near  it,  where  the  trans¬ 
action  was  to  take  place,  by  constant  changes  of 
horses  where  riding  was  possible,  and  by  a  strong 
body  of  dooly-bearers,  wherever  the  path  should  prove 
too  steep  for  four-footed  beasts  of  burden.  I,  on  the 
other  hand,  must  leave  the  road  at  Julinder,  a  place 
I  had  never  visited,  and  must  trust  to  my  own  un¬ 
aided  wits  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  rupees  to  carry 
me  over  at  least  two  hundred  miles  of  country  I  did 
not  know  —  difficult  certainly,  and  perhaps  impracti¬ 
cable  for  riding.  The  prospect  was  not  a  pleasant  one, 
but  I  was  convinced  that  in  a  matter  of  this  impor¬ 
tance  a  man  of  Isaacs’  wit  and  wealth  would  have 
made  at  least  some  preliminary  arrangements  for  me, 
since  he  probably  knew  the  country  well  enough 

s 


258 


MR.  ISAACS. 


himself.  I  had  hut  six  days  at  the  outside  to  reach 
my  destination. 

I  had  resolved  to  take  one  servant,  Kiramat  Ali, 
with  me  as  far  as  Julinder,  whence  I  would  send  him 
back  to  Simla  with  what  slender  luggage  we  carried, 
for  I  meant  to  ride  as  light  as  possible,  with  no 
encumbrance  to  delay  me  when  once  I  left  the  line 
of  the  railway.  I  might  have  ridden  five  miles  with 
Kiramat  Ali  behind  me  on  a  sturdy  tat ,  when  I  was 
surprised  by  the  appearance  of  an  unknown  saice  in 
plain  white  clothes,  holding  a  pair  of  strong  young 
ponies  by  the  halter  and  salaaming  low. 

“  Pundit  Ram  Lai  sends  your  highness  his  peace, 
and  bids  you  ride  without  sparing.  The  dtik  is  laid 
to  the  fire -carriages.” 

The  saddles  were  changed  in  a  moment,  Kiramat 
Ali  and  I  assisting  in  the  operation.  It  was  clear 
that  Ram  Lai’s  messengers  were  swift,  for  even  if  he 
had  met  Isaacs  when  the  latter  reached  the  railroad, 
no  ordinary  horse  could  have  returned  with  the  mes¬ 
sage  at  the  time  I  had  received  it.  Still  less  would 
any  ordinary  Hindus  be  capable  of  laying  a  dak ,  or 
post  route  of  relays,  over  a  hundred  miles  long  in 
twelve  hours.  Once  prepared,  it  was  a  mere  matter 
of  physical  endurance  in  the  rider  to  cover  the 
ground,  for  the  relays  were  stationed  every  five  or 
six  miles.  It  was  well  known  that  Lord  Steeple  ton 
Kildare  had  lately  ridden  from  Simla  to  Umballa 
one  night  and  back  the  next  day,  ninety-two  miles 
each  way,  with  constant  change  of  cattle.  What 


MR.  ISAACS. 


259 


puzzled  me  was  tlie  rapidity  with  which  the  necessary 
dispositions  had  been  made.  On  the  whole,  I  was 
reassured.  If  Ram  Lai  had  been  able  to  prepare  my 
way  at  such  short  notice  here,  with  two  more  days  at 
his  disposal  he  would  doubtless  succeed  in  laying 
me  a  dak  most  of  the  way  from  Julinder  to  Keitung. 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  details  of  the  journey.  I 
reached  the  railroad  and  prepared  for  forty-eight 
hours  of  jolting  and  jostling  and  broken  sleep.  It  is 
true  that  railway  travelling  is  nowhere  so  luxurious 
as  in  India,  where  a  carriage  has  but  two  compart¬ 
ments,  each  holding  as  a  rule  only  two  persons, 
though  four  can  be  accommodated  by  means  of  hang¬ 
ing  berths.  Each  compartment  has  a  spacious  bath¬ 
room  attached,  where  you  may  bathe  as  often  as  you 
please,  and  there  are  various  contrivances  for  venti¬ 
lating1  and  cooling  the  air.  Nevertheless  the  heat  is 
sometimes  unbearable,  and  a  journey  from  Bombay 
to  Calcutta  direct  during  the  warm  months  is  a  severe 
trial  to  the  strongest  constitution.  On  this  occasion 
I  had  about  forty-eight  hours  to  travel,  and  I  was 
resolved  to  get  all  the  rest  in  that  time  that  the  jolting 
made  possible;  for  I  knew  that  once  in  the  saddle 
again  it  might  be  days  before  I  got  a  night’s  sleep. 
And  so  we  rumbled  along,  through  the  vast  fields  of 
sugar-cane,  now  mostly  tied  in  huge  sheaves  upright, 
through  boundless  stretches  of  richly-cultivated  soil, 
intersected  with  the  regularity  of  a  chess-board  by  the 
rivulets  and  channels  of  a  laborious  irrigation.  Here 
and  there  stood  the  high  frames  made  by  planting 


260 


MR.  ISAACS. 


four  bamboos  in  a  square  and  wickering  tlie  top, 
whereon  the  ryots  sit  when  the  crops  are  ripening, 
to  watch  against  thieves  and  cattle,  and  to  drive 
away  the  birds  of  the  air.  On  we  spun,  past  Meerut 
and  Mozuffernugger,  past  Umballa  and  Loodhiana, 
till  we  reached  our  station  of  Julinder  at  dawn. 
Descending  from  the  train,  I  was  about  to  begin 
making  inquiries  about  my  next  move,  when  I  was 
accosted  by  a  tall  and  well-dressed  Mussulman,  in  a 
plain  cloth  caftdn  and  a  white  turban,  but  exquisitely 
clean  and  fresh  looking,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  for  my 
eyes  were  smarting  with  dust  and  wearied  with  the 
perpetual  shaking  of  the  train. 

The  courteous  native  soon  explained  that  he  was 
Isaacs’  agent  in  Julinder,  and  that  a  tar  ki  khaber ,  a 
telegram  in  short,  had  warned  him  to  be  on  the  look¬ 
out  for  me.  I  was  greatly  relieved,  for  it  was  evi¬ 
dent  that  every  arrangement  had  been  made  for  my 
comfort,  so  far  as  comfort  was  possible.  Isaacs  had 
asked  my  assistance,  but  he  had  taken  every  precau¬ 
tion  against  all  superfluous  bodily  inconvenience  to 
me,  and  I  felt  sure  that  from  this  point  I  should 
move  quickly  and  easily  through  every  difficulty. 
And  so  it  proved.  The  Mussulman  took  me  to  his 
house,  where  there  was  a  spacious  apartment,  occu¬ 
pied  by  Isaacs  when  he  passed  that  way.  Every 
luxury  was  prepared  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  bath, 
and  a  breakfast  of  no  mean  taste  was  served  me  in 
my  own  room.  Then  my  host  entered  and  explained 
that  he  had  been  directed  to  make  certain  arrange- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


261 


merits  for  my  journey.  He  had  laid  a  ddh  nearly  a 
hundred  miles  ahead,  and  had  been  ordered  to  tell  me 
that  similar  steps  had  been  taken  beyond  that  point 
as  far  as  my  ultimate  destination,  of  which,  however, 
he  was  ignorant.  My  servant,  he  said,  must  stay 
with  him  and  return  to  Simla  with  my  traps. 

So  an  hour  later  I  mounted  for  my  long  ride,  pro¬ 
vided  with  a  revolver  and  some  rupees  in  a  bag,  in 
case  of  need.  The  country,  my  entertainer  informed 
me,  was  considered  perfectly  safe,  unless  I  feared  the 
tap,,  the  bad  kind  of  fever  which  infests  all  the 
country  at  the  base  of  the  hills.  I  was  not  afraid  of 
this.  My  experience  is  that  some  people  are  predis¬ 
posed  to  fever,  and  will  generally  be  attacked  by  it 
in  their  first  year  in  India,  whether  they  are  much 
exposed  to  it  or  not,  while  others  seem  naturally 
proof  against  any  amount  of  malaria,  and  though  they 
sleep  out  of  doors  through  the  whole  rainy  season, 
‘and  tramp  about  the  jungles  in  the  autumn,  will 
never  catch  the  least  ague,  though  they  may  have  all 
other  kinds  of  ills  to  contend  with. 

On  and  on,  galloping  along  the  heavy  roads,  some¬ 
times  over  no  road  at  all,  only  a  broad  green  track, 
where  the  fresh  grass  that  had  sprung  up  after  the 
rains  was  not  yet  killed  by  the  trampling  of  the  bul¬ 
locks  and  the  grinding  jolt  of  the  heavy  cart.  At 
intervals  of  seven  or  eight  miles  I  found  a  saice  with  a 
fresh  pony  picketed  and  grazing  at  the  end  of  the 
long  rope.  The  saice  was  generally  squatting  near 
by,  with  his  bag  of  food  and  his  three-sided  kitchen 


262 


MR.  ISAACS. 


of  stones,  blackened  with  the  fire  from  his  last  meal, 
beside  him;  sometimes  in  the  act  of  cooking  his  cliow- 
patties,  sometimes  eating  them,  according  to  the  time 
of  day.  Several  times  I  stopped  to  drink  some  water 
where  it  seemed  to  be  good,  and  I  ate  a  little  choco¬ 
late  from  my  supply,  well  knowing  the  miraculous  sus¬ 
taining  powers  of  the  simple  little  block  of  “  Menier,” 
which,  with  its  six  small  tablets,  will  not  only  sus¬ 
tain  life,  but  will  supply  vigour  and  energy,  for  as 
much  as  two  days,  with  no  other  food.  On  and  on, 
through  the  day  and  the  night,  past  sleeping  villages 
where  the  jackals  howled  around  the  open  doors  of 
the  huts;  and  across  vast  fields  of  late  crops,  over 
hills  thickly  grown  with  trees,  past  the  broad  bend 
of  the  Sutlej  river,  and  over  the  plateau  toward  Sul- 
tanpoor,  the  cultivation  growing  scantier  and  the 
villages  rarer  all  the  while,  as  the  vast  masses  of  the 
Himalayas  defined  themselves  more  and  more  dis¬ 
tinctly  in  the  moonlight.  Horses  of  all  kinds  under 
me,  lean  and  fat,  short  and  high,  roman-nosed  and 
goose-necked,  broken  and  unbroken ;  away  and  away, 
shifting  saddle  and  bridle  and  saddle-bag  as  I  left 
each  tired  mount  behind  me.  Once  I  passed  a  stream, 
and  pulling  off  my  boots  to  cool  my  feet,  the  tempta¬ 
tion  was  too  strong,  so  I  hastily  threw  off  my  clothes 
and  plunged  in  and  had  a  short  refreshing  bath. 
Then  on,  with  the  galloping  even  triplet  of  the 
horse’s  hoofs  beneath  me,  as  they  came  down  in  quick 
succession,  as  if  the  earth  were  a  muffled  drum  and 
we  were  beating  an  untiring  rataplan  on  her  breast. 


MB.  ISAACS. 


263 


I  must  have  ridden  a  hundred  and  thirty  miles 
before  dawn,  and  the  pace  was  beginning  to  tell, 
even  on  my  strong  frame.  True,  to  a  man  used  to 
the  saddle,  the  effort  of  riding  is  reduced  to  a  mini¬ 
mum  when  every  hour  or  two  gives  him  a  fresh  horse. 
There  is  then  no  heed  for  the  welfare  of  the  animal 
necessary;  he  has  but  his  seven  or  eight  miles  to 
gallop,  and  then  his  work  is  done;  there  are  none  of 
those  thousand  little  cares  and  sympathetic  shif tings 
and  adjustings  of  weight  and  seat  to  be  thought  of, 
which  must  constantly  engage  the  attention  of  a  man 
who  means  to  ride  the  same  horse  a  hundred  miles, 
or  even  fifty  or  forty.  Conscious  that  a  fresh  mount 
awaits  him,  he  sits  back  lazily  and  never  eases  his 
weight  for  a  moment;  before  he  has  gone  thirty  miles 
he  will  kick  his  feet  out  of  the  stirrups  about  once  in 
twenty  minutes,  and  if  he  has  for  the  moment  a  quiet 
old  stager  who  does  not  mind  tricks,  lie  will  probably 
fetch  one  leg  over  and  go  a  few  miles  sitting  side¬ 
ways.  He  will  go  to  sleep  once  or  twice,  and  wake 
up  apparently  in  the  very  act  to  fall  —  though  I 
believe  that  a  man  will  sleep  at  a  full  gallop  and  never 
loosen  his  knees  until  the  moment  of  waking  star¬ 
tles  him.  Nevertheless,  and  notwithstanding  Lord 
Steepleton  Kildare  and  his  ride  to  Umballa  and  back 
in  twenty-four  hours,  when  a  man,  be  he  ever  so 
strong,  has  ridden  over  a  hundred  miles,  he  feels 
inclined  for  a  rest,  and  a  walk,  and  a  little  sleep. 

Once  more  an  emissary  of  Ram  Lai  strode  to  my 
^  side  as  1  rolled  off  the  saddle  into  the  cool  grass  at 


264 


MR.  ISAACS. 


sunrise  in  a  very  impracticable-looking  country. 
The  road  had  been  steeper  and  less  defined  during  the 
last  two  hours  of  the  ride,  and  as  I  crossed  one  leg 
high  over  the  other  lying  on  my  back  in  the  grass,  the 
morning  light  caught  my  spur,  and  there  was  blood 
on  it,  bright  and  reel.  I  had  certainly  come  as  fast 
as  I  could ;  if  I  should  be  too  late,  it  would  not  be 
my  fault.  The  agent,  whoever  he  might  be,  was  a 
striking  looking  fellow  in  a  dirty  brown  cloth  caftan 
and  an  enormous  sash  wound  round  his  middle.  A 
pointed  cap  with  some  tawdry  gold  lace  on  it  covered 
his  head,  and  greasy  black  love-locks  writhed  filthily 
over  his  high  cheek  bones  and  into  his  scanty  tangled 
beard;  a  suspicious  hilt  bound  with  brass  wire  reared 
its  snake-like  head  from  the  folds  of  his  belt,  and  his 
legs,  terminating  in  thick-soled  native  shoes,  re¬ 
minded  one  of  a  tarantula  in  boots.  He  salaamed 
awkwardl}  with  a  tortuous  grin,  and  addressed  me 
with  the  northern  salutation,  “  May  your  feet  never 
be  weary  with  the  march.”  Having  been  twenty- 
four  hours  in  the  saddle,  my  feet  were  not  that  por¬ 
tion  of  my  body  most  wearied,  but  I  replied  to  the 
effect  that  I  trusted  the  shadow  of  the  greasy  gentle¬ 
man  might  not  diminish  a  liairsbreadth  in  the  next 
ten  thousand  years.  We  then  proceeded  to  business, 
and  I  observed  that  the  man  spoke  a  very  broken  and 
hardly  intelligible  Hindustani.  I  tried  him  in  Per¬ 
sian,  but  it  was  of  no  avail.  He  spoke  Persian,  he 
said,  but  it  was  not  of  the  kind  that  any  human  being 
could  understand;  so  we  returned  to  the  first  lan- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


265 


guage,  and  I  concluded  that  he  was  a  wandering 
k&buli. 

As  an  introduction  of  himself  he  mentioned  Isaacs, 
calling  him  Abdul  Hafiz  Sahib,  and  he  seemed  to 
know  him  personally.  Abdul,  he  said,  was  not  far 
off  as  distances  go  in  the  Himalayas.  He  thought  I 
should  find  him  the  day  after  to-morrow,  munghul. 
He  said  I  should  not  be  able  to  ride  much  farther,  as 
the  pass  beyond  Sultanpoor  was  utterly  impracticable 
for  horses;  coolies,  however,  awaited  me  with  a 
dooly,  one  of  those  low  litters  slung  on  a  bamboo,  in 
which  you  may  travel  swiftly  and  without  effort,  but 
to  the  destruction  of  the  digestive  organs.  He  said 
also  that  he  would  accompany  me  the  next  stage 
as  far  as  the  doolies,  and  I  thought  he  showed  some 
curiosity  to  know  whither  I  was  going;  but  he  was 
a  wise  man  in  his  generation,  and  knowing  his 
orders,  did  not  press  me  overmuch  with  questions. 
I  remarked  in  a  mild  way  that  the  saddle  was  the 
throne  of  the  warrior,  and  that  the  air  of  the  black 
mountains  was  the  breath  of  freedom;  but  I  added 
that  the  voice  of  the  empty  stomach  was  as  the  roar 
of  the  king  of  the  forest.  Whereupon  the  man 
replied  that  the  forest  was  mine  and  the  game  therein, 
whereof  I  was  lord,  as  I  probably  was  of  the  rest  of 
the  world,  since  I  was  his  father  and  mother  and 
most  of  his  relations;  but  that,  perceiving  that  I 
was  occupied  with  the  cares  of  a  mighty  empire,  he 
had  ventured  to  slay  with  his  own  hand  a  kid  and 
some  birds,  which,  if  I  would  condescend  to  partake 


266 


MR.  ISAACS. 


of  them,  he  would  proceed  to  cook.  I  replied  that 
the  light  of  my 'countenance  would  shine  upon  my 
faithful  servant  to  the  extent  of  several  coins,  both 
rupees  and  pais,  but  that  the  peculiar  customs  of  my 
caste  forbid  me  to  touch  food  cooked  by  any  one  but 
myself.  I  would,  however,  in  consideration  of  his 
exertions  and  his  guileless  heart,  invite  the  true  fol¬ 
lower  of  the  prophet,  whose  name  is  blessed,  to  par¬ 
take  with  me  of  the  food  which  I  should  presently 
prepare.  Whereat  he  was  greatly  delighted,  and 
fetched  the  meat,  which  he  had  stowed  away  in  a 
kind  of  horse-cloth,  for  safety  against  ants. 

I  am  not  a  bad  cook  at  a  pinch,  and  so  we  sat 
down  and  made  a  cooking-place  with  stones,  and 
built  a  fire,  and  let  the  flame  die  down  into  coals, 
and  I  dressed  the  meat  as  best  I  could,  and  flavoured 
it  with  gunpowder  and  pepper,  and  we  were  merry. 
The  man  was  thenceforth  mine,  and  I  knew  I  could 
trust  him;  a  bivouac  in  the  Himalayas,  when  one  is 
alone  and  far  from  any  kind  of  assistance,  is  not  the 
spot  to  indulge  in  any  prejudice  about  colour.  I 
did  not  think  much  about  it  as  I  hungrily  gnawed 
the  meat  and  divided  the  birds  with  my  pocket-knife. 

The  lower  Himalayas  are  at  first  extremely  dis¬ 
appointing.  The  scenery  is  enormous  but  not  grand, 
and  at  first  hardly  seems  large.  The  lower  parts  are 
at  first  sight  a  series  of  gently  undulating  hills  and 
wooded  dells,  in  some  places  it  looks  as  if  one  might 
almost  hunt  the  country.  It  is  long  before  you  real¬ 
ise  that  it  is  all  on  a  gigantic  scale ;  that  the  quick- 


MR.  ISAACS.- 


267 


set  hedges  are  belts  of  rhododendrons  of  full  growth, 
the  water-jumps  rivers,  and  the  stone  walls  mountain- 
ridges  ;  that  to  hunt  a  country  like  that  you  would 
have  to  ride  a  horse  at  least  two  hundred  feet  high. 
You  cannot  see  at  first,  or  even  for  some  time,  that 
the  gentle-looking  hill  is  a  mountain  of  five  or  six 
thousand  feet;  in  Simla  you  will  not  believe  you  are 
three  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  Rhigi 
Kulm  in  Switzerland.  Persons  who  are  familiar  with 
the  aspect  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  are  aware  of  the 
singular  lack  of  dignity  in  those  enormous  eleva¬ 
tions.  They  are  merely  big,  without  any  superior 
beauty,  until  you  come  to  the  favoured  spots  of 
nature’s  art,  where  some  great  contrast  throws  out 
into  appalling  relief  the  gulf  between  the  high  and 
the  low.  It  is  so  in  the  Himalayas. 

You  may  travel  for  hours  and  days  amidst  vast 
forests  and  hills  without  the  slightest  sensation  of 
pleasure  or  sense  of  admiration  for  the  scene,  till  sud¬ 
denly  your  path  leads  you  out  on  to  the  dizzy  brink  of 
an  awful  precipice  —  a  sheer  fall,  so  exaggerated  in 
horror  that  your  most  stirring  memories  of  Mont 
Blanc,  the  Jungfrau,  and  the  hideous  arete  of  the  Pitz 

41 

Bernina,  sink  into  vague  insignificance.  The  gulf 
that  divides  you  from  the  distant  mountain  seems 
like  a  huge  bite  taken  bodily  out  of  the  world  by  some 
voracious  god ;  far  away  rise  snow  peaks  such  as  were 
not  dreamt  of  in  your  Swiss  tour;  the  bottomless 
valley  at  your  feet  is  misty  and  gloomy  with  black¬ 
ness,  streaked  with  mist,  while  the  peaks  above  shoot 


268 


MR.  ISAACS. 


gladly  to  the  sun  and  catch  his  broadside  rays  like 
majestic  white  standards.  Between  you,  as  you 
stand  leaning  cautiously  against  the  hill  behind  you, 
and  the  wonderful  background  far  away  in  front, 
floats  a  strange  vision,  scarcely  moving,  but  yet  not 
still.  A  great  golden  shield  sails  steadily  in  vast 
circles,  sending  back  the  sunlight  in  eveiy  tint  of 
burnished  glow.  The  golden  eagle  of  the  Himalayas 
hangs  in  mid-air,  a  sheet  of  polished  metal  to  the  eye, 
pausing  sometimes  in  the  full  blaze  of  reflection,  as 
ages  ago  the  sun  and  the  moon  stood  still  in  the 
valley  of  A jalon ;  too  magnificent  for  description,  as 
he  is  too  dazzling  to  look  at.  The  whole  scene,  if  no 
greater  name  can  be  given  to  it,  is  on  a  scale  so 
Titanic  in  its  massive  length  and  breadth  and  depth, 
that  you  stand  utterly  trembling  and  weak  and  fool¬ 
ish  as  you  look  for  the  first  time.  You  have  never 
seen  such  masses  of  the  world  before. 

It  was  in  such  a  spot  as  this  that,  nearly  at  noon  on 
the  appointed  day,  my  dooly-bearers  set  me  down  and 
warned  me  I  was  at  my  journey’s  end.  I  stepped 
out  and  stood  on  the  narrow  way,  pausing  to  look 
and  to  en  joy  all  that  I  saw.  I  had  been  in  other 
parts  of  the  lower  Himalayas  before,  and  the  first 
sensations  I  had  experienced  had  given  way  to  those 
of  a  contemplative  admiration.  No  longer  awed  or 
overpowered  or  oppressed  by  the  sense  of  physical 
insignificance  in  my  own  person,  I  could  endure  to 
look  on  the  stupendous  panorama  before  me,  and 
could  even  analyse  what  I  felt,  But  before  long  my 


MR.  ISAACS. 


269 


pardonable  reverie  was  disturbed  by  a  well-known 
voice.  The  clear  tones  rang  like  a  trumpet  along 
the  mountain-side  in  a  glad  shout  of  welcome.  I 
turned  and  saw  Isaacs  coming  quickly  towards  me, 
bounding  along  the  edge  of  the  precipice  as  if  his 
life  had  been  passed  in  tending  goats  and  robbing 
eagles’  nests.  I,  too,  moved  on  to  meet  him,  and  in 
a  moment  we  clasped  hands  in  unfeigned  delight  at 
being  again  together.  What  *was  Ghyrkins  or  his 
party  to  me?  Here  was  the  man  I  sought;  the  one 
man  on  earth  who  seemed  worth  having  for  a  friend. 
And  yet  it  was  but  three  weeks  since  we  first  met, 
and  I  am  not  enthusiastic  by  temperament. 

“What  news,  friend  Griggs?” 

“She  greets  you  and  sends  you  this,”  I  said,  tak¬ 
ing  from  my  bosom  the  parcel  she  had  thrust  into  my 
hand  as  I  left  in  the  dark.  His  face  fell  suddenly. 
It  was  the  silver  box  he  had  given  her;  was  it  possi¬ 
ble  she  had  taken  so  much  trouble  to  return  it  ?  He 
turned  it  over  mournfully. 

“  You  had  better  open  it.  There  is  probably  some¬ 
thing  in  it.” 

I  never  saw  a  more  complete  change  in  a  man’s  face 
during  a  single  second  than  came  over  Isaacs  in  that 
moment.  He  had  not  thought  of  opening  it,  in  his 
first  disappointment  at  finding  it  returned.  He 
turned  back  the  lid.  Bound  with  a  bit  of  narrow 
ribbon  and  pressed  down  carefully,  lie  found  a  heavy 
lock  of  gold-white  hair,  so  fair  that  it  made  every¬ 
thing  around  it  seem  dark — the  grass,  our  clothes, 


270 


MR.  ISAACS. 


and  even  the  white  streamer  that  hung  down  from 
Isaacs’  turban.  It  seemed  to  shed  a  bright  light, 
even  in  the  broad  noonday,  as  it  lay  there  in  the 
curiously  wrought  box  —  just  as  the  body  of  some 
martyred  saint  found  jealously  concealed  in  the  dark 
corner  of  an  ancient  crypt,  and  broken  in  upon  by 
unsuspecting  masons  delving  a  king’s  grave,  might 
throw  up  in  their  dusky  faces  a  dazzling  halo  of  soft 
radiance  —  the  glory  of  the  saint  hovering  lovingly  by 
the  body  wherein  the  soul’s  sufferings  were  perfected. 

The  moment  Isaacs  realised  what  it  was,  he  turned 
away,  his  face  all  gladness,  and  moved  on  a  few  steps 
with  bent  head,  evidently  contemplating  his  new 
treasure.  Then  he  snapped  the  spring,  and  putting 
the  casket  in  his  vest  turned  round  to  me. 

“Thank  you,  Griggs;  how  are  they  all?” 

“  It  was  worth  a  two-hundred  mile  ride  to  see  your 
face  when  you  opened  that  box.  They  are  pretty 
well.  I  left  them  swearing  that  the  party  was  broken 
up,  and  that  they  would  all  go  back  to  Simla.” 

“The  sooner  the  better.  We  shall  be  there  in 
three  days  from  here,  by  the  help  of  Ram  Lai’s  won¬ 
derful  post.” 

“  Between  you  I  managed  to  get  here  quite  well. 
How  did  you  do  it?  I  never  missed  a  relay  all  the 
way  from  Julinder.” 

“Oh,  it  is  very  easy,”  answered  Isaacs.  “You 
could  have  a  ddk  to  the  moon  from  India  if  you  would 
pay  for  it;  or  any  other  thing  in  heaven  or  earth  or 
hell  that  you  might  fancy.  Money,  that  is  all.  But, 


MR.  ISAACS. 


271 


my  dear  fellow,  you  have  lost  flesh  sensibly  since  we 
parted.  You  take  your  travelling  hard.” 

“Where  is  Ram  Lai?”  I  asked,  curious  to  learn 
something  of  our  movements  for  the  night. 

“Oh,  I  don’t  know.  He  is  probably  somewhere 
about  the  place  charming  cobras  or  arresting  ava¬ 
lanches,  or  indulging  in  some  of  those  playful  freaks 
he  says  he  learned  in  Edinburgh.  We  have  had 
a  great  good  time  the  last  two  days.  He  has  not 
disappeared,  or  swallowed  himself  even  once,  or 
delivered  himself  of  any  fearful  and  mysterious 
prophecies.  We  have  been  talking  transcendental¬ 
ism.  He  knows  as  much  about  ‘functional  gamma’ 
and  ‘All  X  is  Y  ’  and  the  rainbow,  and  so  on,  as  you 
do  yourself.  I  recommend  him.  I  think  he  would  be 
a  charming  companion  for  you.  There  he  is  now, 
with  his  pockets  full  of  snakes  and  evil  beasts.  I 
wanted  him  to  catch  a  golden  eagle  this  morning, 
and  tame  it  for  Miss  Westonhaugh,  but  he  said  it 
would  eat  the  jackal  and  probably  the  servants,  so  I 
have  given  it  up  for  the  present.'’  Isaacs  was  evi¬ 
dently  in  a  capital  humour.  Ram  Lai  approached  us. 

I  saw  at  a  glance  that  Ram  Lai  the  Buddhist,  when 
on  his  beats  in  the  civilisation  of  Simla,  was  one 
person.  Ram  Lai,  the  cultured  votary  of  science, 
among  the  hills  and  the  beasts  and  the  specimens 
that  he  loved,  was  a  very  different  man.  He  was  as 
gray  as  ever,  it  is  true,  but  better  defined,  the  out¬ 
lines  sharper,  the  features  more  Dantesque  and  easier 
to  discern  in  the  broad  light  of  the  sun.  He  did  not 


272 


MR.  ISAACS. 


look  now  as  if  he  could  sit  down  and  cross  his  legs 
and  fade  away  into  thin  air,  like  the  Cheshire  cat. 
He  looked  more  solid  and  fleshly,  his  voice  was 
fuller,  and  sounded  close  to  me  as  he  spoke,  with¬ 
out  a  shadow  of  the  curious  distant  ring  I  had  noticed 
before. 

“Ah!”  he  said  in  English,  “Mr.  Griggs,  at  last! 
Well,  you  are  in  plenty  of  time.  The  gentleman  who 
is  not  easily  astonished.  That  is  just  as  well,  too. 
I  like  people  with  quiet  nerves.  I  see  by  your 
appearance  that  you  are  hungry,  Mr.  Griggs.  Abdul 
Hafiz,  why  should  we  not  dine  ?  It  is  much  better 
to  get  that  infliction  of  the  flesh  over  before  this 
evening.” 

“  By  all  means.  Come  along.  But  first  send  those 
dooly-bearers  about  their  business.  They  can  wait 
till  to-morrow  over  there  on  the  other  side.  They 
always  carry  food,  and  there  is  any  amount  of  fuel.” 

Just  beyond  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  sheltered  from 
the  north  by  the  projecting  boulders,  was  a  small 
tent,  carefully  pitched  and  adjusted  to  stand  the 
storms  if  any  should  come.  Thither  we  all  three  bent 
our  steps  and  sat  down  by  the  fire,  for  it  was  chilly, 
even  cold,  in  the  passes  in  September.  Food  was 
brought  out  by  Isaacs,  and  we  ate  together  as  if  no 
countless  ages  of  different  nationalities  separated  us. 
Ram  Lai  was  perfectly  natural  and  easy  in  his  man¬ 
ners,  and  affable  in  what  he  said.  Until  the  meal 
was  finished  no  reference  was  made  to  the  strange 

O 

business  that  brought  us  from  different  points  of  the 


MR.  ISAACS. 


273 


compass  to  the  Himalayan  heights.  Then,  at  last, 
Ram  Lai  spoke ;  his  meal  had  been  the  most  frugal 
of  the  three,  and  he  had  soon  eaten  his  fill,  but  he 
employed  himself  in  rolling  cigarettes,  which  he  did 
with  marvellous  skill,  until  we  two  had  satisfied  our 
younger  and  healthier  appetites. 

“Abdul  Hafiz,'’  he  said,  his  gray  face  bent  over  his 
colourless  hands  as  he  twisted  the  papers,  “shall  we 
not  tell  Mr.  Griggs  what  is  to  be  done?  Afterward 
he  can  lie  in  the- tent  and  sleep  until  evening,  for  he 
is  weary  and  needs  to  recruit  his  strength.” 

“So  be  it,  Ram  Lai,”  answered  Isaacs. 

“Very  well.  The  position  is  this,  Mr.  Griggs. 
Neither  Mr.  Isaacs  nor  I  trust  those  men  that  we  are 
to  meet,  and  therefore,  as  we  are  afraid  of  being 
killed  unawares,  we  thought  we  would  send  for  you 
to  protect  us.”  He  smiled  pleasantly  as  he  saw  the 
blank  expression  in  my  face. 

“  Certainly,  and  you  shall  hear  how  it  is  to  be 
done.  The  place  is  not  far  from  here  in  the  valley 
below.  The  band  are  already  nearing  the  spot,  and 
at  midnight  we  will  go  down  and  meet  them.  The 
meeting  will  be,  of  course,  like  all  form  il  rendezvous 
for  the  delivery  of  prisoners.  The  captain  of  the 
band  will  come  forward  accompanied  by  his  charge, 
and  perhaps  by  a  sowar.  We  three  will  stand  to¬ 
gether,  side  by  side,  and  await  their  coming.  Now 
the  plot  is  this.  They  have  determined  if  possible 
to  murder  both  Shere  Ali  and  Isaacs  then  and  there 
together.  They  have  not  counted  on  us,  but  they 


274 


MR.  ISAACS. 


probably  expect  that  our  friend  will  arrive  guarded 
by  a  troop  of  horse.  The  maharajah’s  men  will  try 
and  sneak  up  close  to  where  we  stand,  and  at  a  sig¬ 
nal,  which  the  leader,  in  conversation  with  Isaacs, 
will  give  by  laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  the 
men  will  rush  in  and  cut  Shere  Ali  to  pieces,  and 
Isaacs  too  if  the  captain  cannot  do  it  alone.  Now 
look  here,  Mr.  Griggs.  What  we  want  you  to  do  is 
this.  Your  friend  —  my  friend  —  wants  no  miracles, 
so  that  you  have  got  to  do  by  strength  what  might 
be  done  by  stratagem,  though  not  so  quickly.  When 
you  see  the  leader  lay  his  hand  on  Isaacs’  shoulder, 
seize  him  by  the  throat  and  mind  his  other  arm, 
which  will  be  armed.  Prevent  him  from  injuring 
Isaacs,  and  I  will  attend  to  the  rest,  who  will  doubt¬ 
less  require  my  whole  attention.” 

“But,”  I  objected,  “supposing  that  this  captain 
turned  out  to  be  stronger  or  more  active  than  I. 
What  then?” 

“Never  fear,”  said  Isaacs,  smiling.  “There  aren’t 
any.” 

“No,”  continued  Ram  Lai,  “never  disturb  your¬ 
self  about  that,  but  just  knock  your  man  down  and 
be  done  with  it.  I  will  guarantee  you  can  do  it  well 
enough,  and  if  he  gives  you  trouble  I  may  be  able  to 
help  you.” 

“All  right;  give  me  some  cigarettes;”  and  before 
I  had  smoked  one  I  was  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  the  sun  was  down,  but  there  was  a 
great  light  over  everything.  The  full  moon  had  just 


MR.  ISAACS. 


275 


risen  above  the  hills  to  eastward  and  bathed  every 
object  in  silver  sheen.  The  far  peaks,  covered  with 
snow,  caught  the  reflection  and  sent  the  beams  float¬ 
ing  across  the  deep  dark  valleys  between.  The  big 
boulder,  against  which  the  tent  was  pitched,  caught 
it  too,  and  seemed  changed  from  rough  stone  to  pre¬ 
cious  metal;  it  was  on  the  tent-pegs  and  the  ropes,  it 
was  upon  Isaacs’  lithe  figure,  as  he  tightened  his 
sash  round  his  waist  and  looked  to  his  pocket-book 
for  the  agreement.  It  made  Ram  Lai,  the  gray  and 
colourless,  look  like  a  silver  statue,  and  it  made  the 
smouldering  flame  of  the  watch-fire  utterly  dim  and 
faint.  It  was  a  wonderful  moon.  I  looked  at  my 
watch;  it  was  eight  o’clock. 

“  Yes,”  said  Isaacs,  “you  were  tired  and  have  slept 
long.  It  is  time  to  be  off.  There  is  some  whiskey 
in  that  flask..  I  don’t  take  those  things,  but  Ram 
Lai  says  you  had  better  have  some,  as  you  might  get 
fever.”  So  I  did.  Then  we  started,  leaving  every¬ 
thing  in  the  tent,  of  which  we  pegged  down  the  flap. 
There  were  no  natives  about,  the  dooly-bearers  hav¬ 
ing  retired  to  the  other  side  of  the  valley,  and  the 
jackals  would  find  nothing  to  attract  them,  as  we  had 
thrown  the  remainder  of  our  meal  over  the  edge. 
As  for  weapons,  I  had  a  good  revolver  and  a  thick 
stick;  Isaacs  had  a  revolver  and  a  vicious  looking 
Turkish  knife;  and  Ram  Lai  had  nothing  at  all,  as 
far  as  I  could  see,  except  a  long  light  staff. 

The  effect  of  the  moonlight  was  wild  in  the 
extreme,  as  we  descended  the  side  of  the  mountain 


276 


MR.  ISAACS. 


by  paths  which  were  very  far  from  smooth  or  easy. 
Every  now  and  then,  as  we  neared  the  valley,  we 
turned  the  corner  of  some  ridge  and  got  a  fair  view 
of  the  plain.  Then  a  step  farther,  and  we  were  in  the 
dark  again,  behind  boulders  and  picking  our  way 
over  loose  stones,  or  struggling  with  the  wretched 
foothold  afforded  by  a  surface  of  light  gravel,  in¬ 
clined  to  the  horizontal  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees.  Then,  with  a  scramble,  a  jump,  and  a  little 
swearing  in  a  great  many  languages  —  I  think  we 
counted  that  we  spoke  twenty-seven  between  us  — 
we  were  on  firm  soil  again,  and  swinging  along  over 
the  bit  of  easy  level  path.  It  would  have  been  out 
of  the  question  to  go  in  doolies,  and  no  pony  could 
keep  a  foothold  for  five  minutes  on  the  uncertain 
ground. 

At  last,  as  we  emerged  into  the  bright  moonlight 
on  a  little  platform  of  rock  at  an  angle  of  the  path, 
we  paused.  Ram  Lai,  who  seemed  to  know  the  way, 
was  in  front,  and  held  up  his  hand  to  silence  us; 
Isaacs  and  I  kneeled  down  and  looked  over  the 
brink.  Some  two  hundred  feet  below,  on  a  broad 
strip  of  green  bordering  the  steep  cliffs,  was  picketed 
a  small  body  of  horse.  We  could  see  the  men  squat¬ 
ting  about  in  their  small  compact  turbans  and  their 
shining  accoutrements ;  the  horses  tethered  at  various 
distances  on  the  sward,  cropping  so  vigorously  that 
even  at  that  height  we  could  hear  the  dull  sound  as 
they  rhythmically  munched  the  grass.  We  could  see 
in  the  middle  of  the  little  camp  a  man  seated  on  a 


MR.  ISAACS. 


277 


mg  and  wrapped  in  a  heavy  garment  of  some  kind, 
quietly  smoking  a  common  hubble-bubble.  Beside 
him  stood  another  who  reflected  more  moonlight 
than  the  rest,  and  who  was  therefore,  by  his  trap¬ 
pings,  the  captain  of  the  band.  The  seated  smoker 
could  he  no  other  than  Shere  Ali. 

Cautiously  we  descended  the  remaining  windings 
of  the  steep  path,  turning  whenever  we  had  a  chance, 
to  look  down  on  the  horsemen  and  their  prisoner 
below,  till  at  last  we  emerged  in  the  valley  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  or  so  beyond  where  they  were  stationed. 
Here  on  the  level  of  the  plain  we  stopped  a  moment, 
and  Ram  Lai  renewed  his  instructions  to  me. 

“If  the  captain,”  he  said,  “lays  his  hand  on  Isaacs’ 
shoulder,  seize  him  and  throw  him.  If  you  cannot 
get  him  down  kill  him  —  any  way  you  can  —  shoot 
him  under  the  arm  with  your  pistol.  It  is  a  matter 
of  life  and  death.” 

“All  right.”  And  we  walked  boldly  along  the 
broad  strip  of  sward.  The  moon  was  now  almost 
immediately  overhead,  for  it  was  midnight,  or  near 
it.  I  confess  the  scene  awed  me,  the  giant  masses  of 
the  mountains  above  us,  the  vast  distances  of  mys¬ 
terious  blue  air,  through  which  the  snow-peaks  shone 
out  with  a  strange  look  that  was  not  natural.  The 
swish  of  the  quickly  flowing  stream  at  the  edge  of 
the  plot  we  were  walking  over  sounded  hollow  and 
unearthly ;  the  velvety  whirr  of  the  great  mountain 
hats  as  they  circled  near  us,  stirred  from  the  branches 
as  we  passed  out,  was  disagreeable  and  heavy  to 
hear.  The  moon  shone  brighter  and  brighter. 


278 


MR.  ISAACS. 


We  were  perhaps  thirty  yards  from  the  little  camp, 
in  which  there  might  he  fifty  men  all  told.  Isaacs 
stood  still  and  sung  out  a  greeting. 

“Peace  to  you,  men  of  Baithopoor !  ”  he  shouted. 
It  was  the  preconcerted  form  of  address.  Instantly 
the  captain  turned  and  looked  toward  us.  Then  he 
gave  some  orders  in  a  low  voice,  and  taking  his 
prisoner  by  the  hand  assisted  him  to  rise.  There 
was  a  scurrying  to  and  fro  in  the  camp.  The  men 
seemed  to  be  collecting,  and  moving  to  the  edge  of 
the  bivouac.  Some  began  to  saddle  the  horses.  The 
moon  was  so  intensely  bright  that  their  movements 
were  as  plain  to  us  as  though  it  had  been  broad  day¬ 
light. 

Two  figures  came  striding  toward  us  —  the  captain 
and  Shere  Ali.  As  I  looked  at  them,  curiously 
enough,  as  may  be  imagined,  I  noticed  that  the 
captain  was  the  taller  man  by  two  or  three  inches, 
but  Shere  Ali’s  broad  chest  and  slightly-bowed  legs 
produced  an  impression  of  enormous  strength.  He 
looked  the  fierce-hearted,  hard-handed  warrior,  from 
head  to  heel;  though  in  accordance  with  Isaacs’ 
treaty  he  had  been  well  taken  care  of  and  was  dressed 
in  the  finest  stuffs,  his  beard  carefully  clipped  and 
his  Indian  turban  rolled  with  great  neatness  round 
his  dark  and  prominent  brows. 

The  first  thing  for  the  captain  was  to  satisfy  him¬ 
self  as  far  as  possible  that  we  had  no  troojis  in  ambush 
up  there  in  the  jungle  on  the  base  of  the  mountain. 
He  had  probably  sent  scouts  out  before,  and  was 


MR.  ISAACS. 


279 


pretty  sure  there  was  no  one  there.  To  gain  time, 
he  made  a  great  show  of  reading  the  agreement 
through  from  beginning  to  end,  comparing  it  all  the 
while  with  a  copy  he  held.  While  this  was  going 
on,  and  I  had  put  myself  as  near  as  possible  to  the 
captain,  Isaacs  and  Shere  Ali  were  in  earnest  conver¬ 
sation  in  the  Persian  tongue.  Shere  Ali  told  Abdul 
that  the  captain’s  perusal  of  the  contract  must  be  a 
mere  empty  show,  since  the  man  did  not  know  a 
word  of  the  language.  Isaacs,  on  hearing  that  the 
captain  could  not  understand,  immediately  warned 
Shere  Ali  of  the  intended  attempt  to  murder  them 
both,  of  which  Ram  Lai,  his  friend,  had  heard,  and 
I  could  see  the  old  soldier’s  eye  flash  and  his  hand 
feel  for  his  weapon,  where  there  was  none,  at  the 
mere  mention  of  a  fight.  The  captain  began  to  talk 
to  Isaacs,  and  I  edged  as  near  as  I  could  to  be  ready 
for  my  grip.  Still  it  did  not  come.  He  talked  on, 
very  civilly,  in  intelligble  Hindustani.  What  was 
the  matter  with  the  moon? 

A  few  minutes  before  it  had  seemed  as  if  there 
would  be  neither  cloud  nor  mist  in  such  a  sky;  and 
now  a  light  filmy  wreath  was  rising  and  darkening 
the  splendour  of  the  wonderful  night.  I  looked  across 
at  Ram  Lai.  He  was  standing  with  one  hand  on  his 
hip,  and  leaning  with  the  other  on  his  staff,  and  he 
was  gazing  up  at  the  moon  with  as  much  interest  as 
he  ever  displayed  about  anything.  At  that  moment 
the  captain  handed  Isaacs  a  prepared  receipt  for 
signature,  to  the  effect  that  the  prisoner  had  been 


280 


MR.  ISAACS. 


duly  delivered  to  his  new  owner.  The  light  was 
growing  dimmer,  and  Isaacs  could  hardly  see  to  read 
the  characters  before  he  signed.  He  raised  the  scroll 
to  his  eyes  and  turned  half  round  to  see  it  better. 
At  that  moment  the  tall  captain  stretched  forth  his 
arm  and  laid  his  hand  on  Isaacs’  shoulder,  raising 
his  other  arm  at  the  same  time  to  his  men,  who  had 
crept  nearer  and  nearer  to  our  group  while  the  endless 
talking  was  going  on.  I  was  perfectly  prepared, 
and  the  instant  the  soldier’s  hand  touched  Isaacs  I 
had  the  man  in  my  grip,  catching  his  upraised  arm 
in  one  hand  and  his  throat  with  the  other.  The 
struggle  did  not  last  long,  but  it  was  furious  in  its 
agony.  The  tough  Punjabi  writhed  and  twisted 
like  a  cat  in  my  grasp,  his  eyes  gleaming  like  living 
coals,  springing  back  and  forward  in  his  vain  and 
furious  efforts  to  reach  my  feet  and  trip  me.  But  it 
was  no  use.  I  had  his  throat  and  one  arm  well  in 
hand,  and  could  hold  him  so  that  he  could  not  reach 
me  with  the  other.  My  fingers  sank  deeper  and 
deeper  in  his  neck  as  we  swayed  backwards  and  side¬ 
ways  tugging  and  hugging,  breast  to  breast,  till  at 
last,  with  a  fearful  strain  and  wrench  of  every  muscle 
in  our  two  bodies,  his  arm  went  back  with  a  jerk, 
broken  like  a  pipe-stem,  and  his  frame  collapsing 
and  bending  backwards,  fell  heavily  to  the  ground 
beneath  me. 

The  whole  strength  of  me  was  at  work  in  the 
struggle,  but  I  could  get  a  glimpse  of  the  others  as 
we  whirled  and  swayed  about. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


281 


Like  the  heavy  pall  of  virgin  white  that  is  laid  on 
the  body  of  a  pure  maiden ;  of  velvet,  soft  and  sweet 
but  heavy  and  impenetrable  as  death,  relentless, 
awful,  appalling  the  soul,  and  freezing  the  marrow  in 
the  bones,  it  came  near  the  earth.  The  figure  of  the 
gray  old  man  grew  mystically  to  gigantic  and  un¬ 
earthly  size,  his  vast  old  hands  stretched  forth  their 
skinny  palms  to  receive  the  great  curtain  as  it 
descended  between  the  moonlight  and  the  sleeping 
earth.  His  eyes  were  as  stars,  his  hoary  head  rose 
majestically  to  an  incalculable  height;  still  the 
thick,  all- wrapping  mist  came  down,  falling  on  horse 
and  rider  and  wrestler  and  robber  and  Amir;  hiding 
all,  covering  all,  folding  all,  in  its  soft  samite  arms, 
till  not  a  man’s  own  hand  was  visible  to  him  a  span’s 
length  from  his  face. 

I  could  feel  the  heaving  chest  of  the  captain  beneath 
my  knee ;  I  could  feel  the  twitching  of  the  broken 
arm  tortured  under  the  pressure  of  my  left  hand;  but 
I  could  see  neither  face  nor  arm  nor  breast,  nor  even 
my  own  fingers.  Only  above  me,  as  I  stared  up, 
seemed  to  tower  the  supernatural  proportions  of  Ram 
Lai,  a  white  apparition  visible  through  the  opaque 
whiteness  that  hid  everything  else  from  view.  It 
was  only  a  moment.  A  hand  was  on  my  shoulder, 
Isaacs’  voice  was  in  my  ear,  speaking  to  Sliere  Ali. 
Ram  Lai  drew  me  away. 

“Be  quick,”  lie  said;  “take  my  hand,  I  will  lead 
you  to  the  light.”  We  ran  along  the  soft  grass, 
following  the  sound  of  each  other’s  feet,  swiftly. 


282 


MR.  ISAACS. 


A  moment  more  and  we  were  in  tlie  pass ;  the  mist 
was  lighter,  and  we  could  see  our  way.  We  rushed 
up  the  stony  path  fast  and  sure,  till  we  reached  the 
clear  bright  moonlight,  blazing  forth  in  silver  splen¬ 
dour  again.  Far  down  below  the  velvet  pall  of  mist 
lay  thick  and  heavy,  hiding  the  camp  and  its  horses 
and  men  from  our  sight. 

“  Friend,”  said  Isaacs,  “you  are  as  free  as  I.  Praise 
Allah,  and  let  us  depart  in  peace.” 

The  savage  old  warrior  grasped  the  outstretched 
hand  of  the  Persian  and  yelled  aloud  — 

“  Illallaho-lio-ho-ho !  ”  His  throat  was  as  brass. 

“  La  illali  ill-allah!  ”  repeated  Isaacs  in  tones  as  of 
a  hundred  clarions,  echoing  by  tree  and  mountain  and 
river,  down  the  valley. 

“Thank  God!  ”  I  said  to  Ram  Lai. 

“  Call  Him  as  you  please,  friend  Griggs,”  answered 
the  pundit. 

It  was  daylight  when  we  reached  the  tenl  at  the 
top  of  the  pass. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


283 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

“Abdul  Hafiz/’  said  Ram  Lai,  as  we  sat  round 
tlie  fire  we  had  made,  preparing  food,  “  if  it  is  thy 
pleasure  I  will  conduct  thy  friend  to  a  place  of  safety 
and  set  his  feet  in  the  paths  that  lead  to  pleasant 
places.  For  thou  art  weary  and  wilt  take  thy  rest 
until  noon,  but  I  am  not  weary  and  the  limbs  of  the 
Afghan  are  as  iron.”  He  spoke  in  Persian,  so  that 
Shere  Ali  could  understand  what  he  said.  The 
latter  looked  uneasy  at  first,  but  soon  perceived  that 
his  best  chance  of  safety  lay  in  immediately  leaving 
the  neighbourhood,  which  was  unpleasantly  near 
Simla  on  the  one  side  and  the  frontiers  of  Baithopoor 
on  the  other. 

“I  thank  thee,  Ram  Lai,”  replied  Isaacs,  “and  I 
gladly  accept  thy  offer.  Whither  wilt  thou  conduct 
our  friend  the  Amir?  ” 

“  I  will  lead  him  by  a  sure  road  into  Thibet,  and 
my  brethren  shall  take  care  of  him,  and  presently  he 
shall  journey  safely  northwards  into  the  Tartar  coun¬ 
try,  and  thence  to  the  Russ  people,  where  the  follow¬ 
ers  of  your  prophet  are  many,  and  if  thou  wilt  give 
him  the  letters  thou  hast  written,  which  lie  may  pre¬ 
sent  to  the  principal  moolahs,  he  shall  prosper.  And 


284 


MR.  ISAACS. 


as  for  money,  if  thou  hast  gold,  give  him  of  it,  and 
if  not,  give  him  silver;  and  if  thou  hast  none,  take 
no  thought,  for  the  freedom  of  the  spirit  is  better 
than  the  obesity  of  the  body.” 

“Bishmillah!  Thou  speakest  with  the  tongue  of 
wisdom,  old  man,”  said  Shere  Ali;  “nevertheless  a 
few  rupees - ” 

“  Fear  nothing,”  broke  in  Isaacs.  “  I  have  for  thee 
a  store  of  a  few  rupees  in  silver,  and  there  are  two 
hundred  gold  mohurs  in  this  bag.  They  are  scarce 
in  Hind  and  pass  not  as  money,  but  the  value  of  them 
whither  thou  goest  shall  buy  thee  food  many  days. 
Take  also  this  diamond,  which  if  thou  be  in  want 
thou  shalt  sell  and  be  rich. 

Shere  Ali,  who  had  been  suspicious  of  treachery, 
or  at  least  was  afraid  to  believe  himself  really  free, 
was  convinced  by  this  generosity.  The  great  rough 
warrior,  the  brave  patriot  who  had  shut  the  gates  of 
Kabul  in  the  face  of  Sir  Neville  Chamberlain,  and 
who  had  faced  every  danger  and  defeat,  rather  than 
tamely  suffer  the  advance  of  the  all-devouring  Eng¬ 
lish  into  his  dominions,  was  proud  and  unbending 
still,  through  all  his  captivity  and  poverty  and  trouble, 
and  weariness  of  soul  and  suffering  of  body;  he  could 
bear  his  calamities  like  a  man,  the  unrelenting  chief 
of  an  unrelenting'  race.  But  when  Isaacs  stretched 

O 

forth  his  hand  and  freed  him,  and  bestowed  upon  him, 
moreover,  a  goodly  stock  of  cash,  and  bid  him  go  in 
peace,  his  gratitude  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he 
fairly  broke  down.  The  big  tears  coursed  down  over 


MR.  ISAACS. 


285 


his  rough  cheeks,  and  his  face  sank  between  his  hands, 
which  trembled  violently  for  a  moment.  Then  his 
habitual  calm  of  outward  manner  returned. 

“Allah  requite  thee,  my  brother,”  he  said,  “I  can 
never  hope  to.” 

“  I  have  done  nothing,  ”  said  Isaacs.  “  Shall  believ¬ 
ers  languish  and  perish  in  the  hands  of  swine  with¬ 
out  faith?  Verily  it  is  Allah’s  doing,  whose  name 
is  great  and  powerful.  He  will  not  suffer  the  follow¬ 
ers  of  His  prophet  to  be  devoured  of  jackals  and 
unclean  beasts.  Masallah!  There  is  no  God  but 
God.” 

Therefore,  when  they  had  eaten  some  food,  Ram 
Lai  and  Shere  Ali  departed,  journeying  north-east 
towards  Thibet,  and  Isaacs  and  I  remained  sleeping 
in  the  tent  until  past  noon.  Then  we  arose  and 
went  our  way,  having  packed  up  the  little  canvas 
house  and  the  utensils  and  the  pole  into  a  neat  bun¬ 
dle  which  we  canied  by  turns  along  the  steep  rough 
paths,  until  we  found  the  dooly-bearers  squatting 
round  the  embers  after  their  mid-day  meal.  As  we 
journeyed  we  talked  of  the  events  of  the  night.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  the  whole  thing  might  have  been 
managed  very  much  more  simply.  Isaacs  did  things 
in  his  own  way,  however,  and,  after  all,  he  generally 
had  a  good  reason  for  his  actions. 

“I  think  not,”  he  said  in  reply  to  my  question. 
“  While  you  were  throwing  that  ruffian,  who  would 
have  overmatched  me  in  an  instant,  Shere  Ali  and  I 
disposed  of  the  sowars  who  ran  up  at  the  captain’s 


286 


MR.  ISAACS. 


signal.  Shere  Ali  says  he  killed  one  of  them  with 
his  hands,  and  my  little  knife  here  seems  to  have 
done  some  damage.”  He  produced  the  vicious-look¬ 
ing  dagger,  stained  above  the  hilt  with  dark  blood, 
which  he  began  to  scrape  off  with  a  bit  of  stick. 

“My  dear  fellow,”  I  objected,  “I  am  delighted  to 
have  served  you,  and  I  see  that  since  Shere  Ali  could 
not  be  warned  of  the  signal,  I  was  the  only  person 
there  who  could  tackle  that  Punjabi  man ;  yet  I  am 
completely  at  a  loss  to  explain  why,  if  Ram  Lai  can 
command  the  forces  of  nature  to  the  extent  of  calling 
down  a  thick  mist  under  the  cover  of  which  we  might 
escape,  he  could  not  have  calmly  destroyed  the  whole 
band  by  lightning,  or  indigestion,  or  some  simple  and 
efficacious  means,  so  that  we  need  not  have  risked 
our  lives  in  supplementing  what  he  only  half  did.” 

“There  are  plenty  of  answers  to  that  question,” 
Isaacs  answered.  “  In  the  first  place,  how  do  you 
know  that  Ram  Lai  could  do  anything  more  than 
discover  the  preconcerted  signal  and  bring  down  that 
fog?  He  pretends  to  no  supernatural  power;  he  only 
asserts  that  he  understands  the  workings  of  nature 
better  than  you  do.  How  do  you  know  that  the  fog 
was  his  doing  at  all?  Your  excited  imagination, 
developed  suddenly  by  the  tussle  with  the  captain, 
which  undoubtedly  sent  the  blood  to  your  head,  made 
you  think  you  saw  Ram  Lai’s  figure  magnified  beyond 
human  proportion.  If  there  had  been  no  mist  at  all, 
we  should  most  likely  have  got  away  unhurt  all  the 
same.  Those  fellows  would  not  fight  after  their 


MR.  ISAACS. 


287 


leader  was  down.  Again,  I  like  to  let  Ram  Lai  feel 
that  I  am  able  to  do  something  for  myself,  and  that 
I  have  other  friends  as  powerful.  He  aims  at  obtain¬ 
ing  too  much  ascendency  over  me.  I  do  not  like  it.” 

“  Oh  —  if  you  look  at  it  in  that  light,  I  have  noth¬ 
ing  to  say.  It  has  been  a  very  pleasant  and  interest¬ 
ing  excursion  to  me,  and  I  am  rather  glad  I  only 
broke  that  fellow’s  arm  instead  of  killing  him,  as  you 
and  Shere  Ali  did  your  sowars.” 

“I  don’t  know  whether  I  killed  him.  I  suppose  I 
did.  Poor  fellow.  However,  he  would  certainly 
have  killed  me.” 

“Of  course.  No  use  crying  over  spilt  milk,”  I 
answered. 

So  we  got  into  the  doolies  and  swung  away.  As 
we  neared  Simla  my  friend’s  spirits  rose,  and  he 
chanted  wild  Persian  and  Arabic  love-songs,  and 
kept  up  a  fire  of  conversation  all  day  and  all  night, 
singing  and  talking  alternately. 

“  Griggs,”  he  said,  as  we  approached  the  end  of  our 
journey,  “did  you  have  occasion  to  tell  Miss  Wes- 
tonhaugh  where  I  had  gone?” 

“  Yes.  She  asked  me,  and  I  answered  that  you  had 
gone  to  save  a  man’s  life.  She  looked  very  much 
pleased,  I  thought,  but  just  then  somebody  came  up, 
and  we  did  not  talk  any  more  about  it.  I  got  your 
message  the  evening  of  the  day  you  left.” 

“  She  looked  pleased  ?  ” 

“Very  much.  I  remember  the  colour  came  into 
her  cheeks.” 


288 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“Was  she  so  pale,  then?”  he  ashecl  anxiously. 

“Why,  yes.  You  remember  how  she  looked  the 
night  before  you  left?  She  was  even  paler  the  next 
day,  but  when  I  said  you  had  gone  to  do  a  good  deed, 
the  light  came  into  her  face  for  a  moment.” 

“Do  you  think  she  was  ill,  Griggs?” 

“She  did  not  look  well,  but  of  course  she  was 
anxious  about  you,  and  a  good  deal  cut  up  about  your 
going.” 

“No;  hut  did  you  really  think  she  was  ill?”  he 
insisted. 

“Oh  no,  nothing  hut  your  going.” 

His  spirits  were  gone  again,  and  he  said  very  lit¬ 
tle  more  that  day.  As  we  were  ascending  the  last 
hills,  some  eight  or  nine  hours  from  Simla,  the  moon 
rose  majestically  behind  us.  It  must  have  been  ten 
o’clock,  for  she  could  not  have  been  seen  above  the 
notch  in  the  mountains  to  eastward  until  she  had 
been  risen  an  hour  at  least. 

“ I  wonder  where  they  are  now,  those  two,”  said 
Isaacs. 

“Sliere  Ali  and  Ram  Lai?” 

“Yes.  They  are  probably  across  the  borders  into 
Thibet,  watching  the  moon  rise  from  the  door  of  some 
Buddhist  monastery.  I  am  glad  I  am  not  there.” 

“  Isaacs,”  I  said,  “  I  would  really  like  to  know  why 
you  took  so  much  trouble  about  Shere  Ali.  It  seems 
to  me  you  might  have  procured  his  liberation  in  some 
simpler  way,  if  it  was  merely  an  act  of  charity  that 
you  contemplated.” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


289 


“  Call  it  anything  you  like.  I  had  read  about  the 
poor  man  until  my  imagination  was  wrought  up, 
and  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  a  man  so  brave  and 
patriotic  and  at  the  same  time  a  true  believer,  lying 
in  the  clutches  of  that  old  beast  of  a  maharajah. 
And  as  for  the  method  of  my  procedure,  do  you 
realise  the  complete  secrecy  of  the  whole  affair?  Do 
you  see  that  no  one  Jmt  you  and  I  and  the  Baithopoor 
people  know  anything  of  the  transaction  ?  Do  you 
suppose  that  I  should  be  tolerated  a  day  in  the  coun¬ 
try  if  the  matter  were  known  ?  Above  all,  what  do 
you  imagine  Mr.  Currie  Gliyrkins  would  think  of  me 
if  he  knew  I  had  been  liberating  and  enriching  the 
worst  foe  of  his  little  god,  Lord  Beaconsfield?  ” 

There  was  truth  in  what  he  said.  By  no  arrange¬ 
ment  could  the  liberation  of  Sliere  Ali  have  been 
effected  with  such  secrecy  and  despatch  as  by  the 
simple  plan  of  going  ourselves.  And  now  we  toiled 
up  the  last  hills,  vainly  attempting  to  keep  our  horses 
in  a  canter;  long  before  the  relay  was  reached  they 
had  relapsed  into  a  dogged  jog-trot. 

So  we  reached  Simla  at  sunrise,  and  crawled  wearily 
up  the  steps  of  the  hotel  to  our  rooms,  tired  with  the 
cramp  of  dooly  and  saddle  for  so  many  days,  and 
longing  for  the  luxury  of  the  bath,  the  civilised  meal, 
and  the  arm-chair.  Of  course  I  did  not  suppose 
Isaacs  would  go  to  bed.  He  expected  that  the  Wes- 
tonhaughs  would  have  returned  by  this  time,  and  he 
would  doubtless  go  to  them  as  soon  as  he  had  break¬ 
fasted.  So  we  separated  to  dress  and  be  shaved  — 

u 


290 


MR.  ISAACS. 


my  beard  was  a  week  old  at  least  —  and  to  make  our¬ 
selves  as  comfortable  as  we  deserved  to  be  after  our 
manifold  exertions.  We  had  been  three  days  and  a 
half  from  Keitung  to  Simla. 

At  my  door  stood  the  faithful  Kiramat  Ali,  salaam¬ 
ing  and  making  a  pretence  of  putting  dust  on  his 
head  according  to  his  ideas  of  respectful  greeting. 
On  the  table  lay  letters ;  one  of  these,  a  note,  lay 
in  a  prominent  position.  I  took  it  instinctively, 
though  I  did  not  know  the  hand.  It  was  from  Mr. 
Currie  Ghyrkins. 

Saturday  morning. 

My  dear  Mr.  Griggs  —  If  you  have  returned  to 
Simla,  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you  for  half  an  hour  on 
a  matter  of  urgent  importance.  I  would  come  to  you 
if  I  could.  My  niece,  Miss  Westonliaugli,  is,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  dangerously  ill.  — Sincerely  yours, 

A.  Currie  Ghyrkins. 

It  was  dated  two  days  before,  for  to-day  was  Mon¬ 
day.  I  made  every  possible  haste  in  my  toilet  and 
ordered  a  horse.  I  wondered  whether  Isaacs  had 
received  a  similar  missive.  What  could  be  the  mat¬ 
ter?  What  might  not  have  happened  in  those  two 
days  since  the  note  was  written  ?  I  felt  sure  that 
the  illness  had  begun  before  I  left  them  in  the  Terai, 
hastened  probably  by  the  pain  she  had  felt  at  Isaacs’ 
departure ;  there  is  nothing  like  a  little  mental  worry 
to  hasten  an  illness,  if  it  is  to  come  at  all.  Poor 
Miss  Westonhaugh!  So,  after  all  her  gaiety  and  all 


MR.  ISAACS. 


291 


the  enjoyment  she  had  from  the  tiger-hunt  on  which 
she  had  set  her  heart,  she  had  come  hack  to  he  ill  in 
Simla.  Well,  the  air  was  fresh  enough  now  — 
almost  cold,  in  fact.  She  would  soon  be  well.  Still, 
it  was  a  great  pity.  W e  might  have  had  such  a  gay 
week  before  breaking  up. 

I  was  dressed,  and  I  went  down  the  steps,  passing 
Isaacs’  open  door.  He  was  calmly  reading  a  newspaper 
and  having  a  morning  smoke,  until  it  should  he  time 
to  go  out.  Clearly  he  had  not  heard  anything  of 
Miss  Westonliaugh’s  illness.  I  resolved  I  would  say 
nothing  until  I  knew  the  worst,  so  I  merely  put  my 
head  in  and  said  I  should  be  back  in  an  hour  to  break¬ 
fast  with  him,  and  passed  on.  Once  on  horseback, 
I  galloped  as  hard  as  I  could,  scattering  chuprassies 
and  children  and  marketers  to  right  and  left  in  the 
bazaar.  It  was  not  long  before  I  left  my  horse  at  the 
corner  of  Mr.  Currie  Ghyrkins’  lawn,  and  walking  to 
the  verandah,  which  looked  suspiciously  neat  and 
unused,  inquired  for  the  master  of  the  house.  I  was 
shown  into  his  bedroom,  for  it  was  still  very  early 
and  he  was  dressing. 

I  noticed  a  considerable  change  in  the  old  gentle¬ 
man’s  manner  and  appearance  in  the  last  ten  days. 
His  bright  red  colour  was  nearly  faded,  his  eyes  had 
grown  larger  and  less  bright,  he  had  lost  flesh,  and 
his  tone  was  subdued  in  the  extreme.  He  came  from 
his  dressing-glass  to  greet  me  with  a  ghost  of  the  old 
smile  on  his  face,  and  his  hand  stretched  eagerly  out. 

“  My  dear  Mr.  Griggs,  I  am  sincerely  glad  to  see 


292 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“I  have  not  been  in  Simla  two  hours,”  T  answered, 
“and  I  found  your  note.  How  is  Miss  Weston- 
haugli  ?  I  am  so  sorry  to - ”  •  . 

“Don’t  talk  about  her,  Griggs.  I  am  afraid  she’s 
g — g — goin’  to  die.”  He  nearly  broke  down,  but  he 
struggled  bravely.  I  was  terribly  shocked,  though 
a  moment’s  reflection  told  me  that  so  strong  and 
healthy  a  person  would  not  die  so  easily.  I  expressed 
my  sympathy  as  best  I  could. 

“What  is  it?  What  is  the  illness?”  I  asked 
when  he  was  quieter. 

“Jungle  fever,  my  dear  fellow,  jungle  fever; 
caught  in  that  beast! v  tiger-hunt.  Oh !  I  wish  I  had 
never  taken  her.  I  wish  we  had  never  gone.  Why 
wasn’t  I  firm?  Damn  it  all,  sir,  why  wasn’t  I  firm, 
eh?”  In  his  anger  at  himself  something  of  the 
former  jerky  energy  of  the  man  showed  itself.  Then 
it  faded  away  into  the  jaded  sorrowful  look  that  was 
on  his  face  when  I  came  in.  He  sat  down  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  hands  in  his  scanty  gray 
hair,  his  suspenders  hanging  down  at  his  sides  —  the 
picture  of  misery.  I  tried  to  console  him,  but  I 
confess  I  felt  very  much  like  breaking  down  myself. 
I  did  not  see  what  I  could  do,  except  break  the  bad 
news  to  Isaacs. 

“Mr.  Griggs,”  he  said  at  last,  “she  has  been  ask¬ 
ing  for  you  all  the  time,  and  the  doctor  thought  if 
you  came  she  had  best  see  you,  as  it  might  quiet  her. 
Understand?”  I  understood  better  than  he  thought. 

People  who  are  dangerously  ill  have  no  morning 


MR.  ISAACS. 


293 


and  no  evening.  Their  hours  are  eternally  the  same, 
save  for  the  alternation  of  suffering  and  rest.  The 
nurse  and  the  doctor  are  their  sun  and  moon,  reliev¬ 
ing  each  other  in  the  watches  of  day  and  night.  As 
they  are  worse  —  as  they  draw  nearer  to  eternity,  they 
are  less  and  less  governed  by  ideas  of  time.  Asdying 
person  will  receive  a  visit  at  midnight  or  at  mid-day 
with  no  thought  but  to  see  the  face  of  friend  —  or  foe 
—  once  more.  So  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  that 
Miss  Westonhangh  would  see  me;  in  an  interval  of 
the  fever  she  had  been  moved  to  a  chair  in  her  room, 
and  her  brother  was  with  her.  I  might  go  in  —  indeed 
she  sent  a  very  urgent  message  imploring  that  I  would 
go.  I  went. 

The  morning  sun  was  beating  brightly  on  the  shut¬ 
ters,  and  the  room  looked  cheerful  as  I  entered.  John 
Westonhaugh,  paler  than  death,  came  quickly  to  the 
door  and  grasped  my  hand. 

On  a  long  cane-cliair  by  the  window,  carefully 
covered  from  the  possible  danger  of  any  insidious 
draught,  with  a  mass  of  soft  white  wraps  and  shawls, 
lay  Katharine  Westonhaugh  —  the  transparant  phan¬ 
tasm  of  her  brilliant  self.  The  rich  masses  of  pale 
hair  were  luxuriously  nestled  around  her  shoulders 
and  the  blazing  eyes  flamed,  lambently,  under  the 
black  brows  —  but  that  was  all.  Colour,  beside  the 
gold  hair  and  the  black  eyes,  there  was  hardly  an}r. 
The  strong  clean-cut  outline  of  the  features  was 
there,  but  absolutely  startling  in  emaciation,  so  that 
there  seemed  to  be  no  flesh  at  all;  the  pale  lips 


294 


MR.  ISAACS. 


scarcely  closed  over  the  straight  white  teeth.  A 
wonderful  and  a  fearful  sight  to  see,  that  stately 
edifice  of  queenly  strength  and  beauty  thus  laid  low 
and  pillaged  and  stript  of  all  colour  save  purple  and 
white  —  the  hues  of  mourning  —  the  purple  lips  and 
the  white  cheek.  I  have  seen  many  people  die,  and 
the  moment  I  looked  at  Katharine  Westonhaugli  I 
felt  that  the  hand  of  death  was  already  closed  over 
her,  gripped  round,  never  to  relax.  John  led  me  to 
her  side,  and  a  faint  smile  showed  she  was  glad  to 
see  me.  I  knelt  reverently  down,  as  one  would  kneel 
beside  one  already  dead.  She  spoke  first,  clearly  and 
easily,  as  it  seemed.  People  who  are  ill  from  fever 
seldom  lose  the  faculty  of  speech. 

“I  am  so  glad  you  are  come.  There  are  many 
things  I  want  you  to  do.” 

“  Yes,  Miss  Westonhaugli.  I  will  do  everything.” 

“Is  he  come  back?”  she  asked  —  then,  as  I  looked 
at  her  brother,  she  added,  “John  knows,  he  is  very 
glad.” 

“Yes,  we  came  back  this  morning  together;  I  came 
here  at  once.” 

“  Thank  you  —  it  was  kind.  Did  you  give  him  the 
box?” 

“Yes — he  does  not  know  you  are  ill.  He  means 
to  come  at  eleven.” 

“Tell  him  to  come  now.  Now —  do  you  under¬ 
stand?”  Then  she  added  in  a  low  tone,  for  my  ear 
only,  “I  don’t  think  they  know  it;  I  am  dying.  I 
shall  be  dead  before  to-night.  Don’t  tell  him  that. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


295 


Make  him  come  now.  John  knows.  Now  go.  I 
am  tired.  No  - — •  wait !  Did  he  save  the  man’s  life  ?  ” 

“Yes;  the  man  is  safe  and  free  in  Thibet.” 

“That  was  nobly  done.  Now  go.  You  have 
always  been  kind  to  me,  and  you  love  him.  When 
you  see  me  again  I  shall  be  gone.'’  Her  voice  was 
perceptibly  weaker,  though  still  clearly  audible. 
“  When  I  am  gone,  put  some  flowers  on  me  for  friend¬ 
ship’s  sake.  You  have  always  been  so  kind.  Good¬ 
bye,  dear  Mr.  Griggs.  Good-bye.  God  keep  you.” 
I  moved  quickly  to  the  door,  fearing  lest  the  piteous 
sight  should  make  a  coward  of  me.  It  was  so  inef¬ 
fably  pathetic  —  this  lovely  creature,  just  tasting  of 
the  cup  of  life  and  love  and  dying  so. 

“  Bring  him  here  at  once,  Griggs,  please.  I  know 
all  about  it.  It  may  save  her.”  John  Westonliaugh 
clasped  my  hand  in  his  again,  and  pushed  me  out  to 
speed  me  on  my  errand.  I  tore  along  the  crooked 
paths  and  the  winding  road,  up  through  the  bazaar, 
past  the  church  and  the  narrow  causeway  beyond  to 
tire  hotel.  I  found  him  still  smoking  and  reading 
the  paper. 

“Well?”  said  he  cheerfully,  for  the  morning  sun 
had  dispelled  the  doubts  of  the  night. 

“My  dear  friend,”  I  said,  “Miss  Westonliaugh 
wants  to  see  you  immediately.” 

“How?  What?  Of  course;  I  will  go  at  once, 
but  how  did  you  know?  ” 

“Wait  a  minute,  Isaacs;  she  is  not  well  at  all — ■ 
in  fact,  she  is  quite  ill.” 


296 


MR.  ISAACS. 


\ 


“What’s  the  matter — 'for  God’s  sake  —  Why, 
Griggs,  man,  how  white  you  are  —  O  my  God,  my 
God  —  she  is  dead!”  I  seized  him  quickly  in  my 
arms  or  he  would  have  thrown  himself  on  the  ground. 

“No,”  I  said,  “she  is  not  dead.  But,  my  dear 
hoy,  she  is  dying.  I  do  not  believe  she  will  live  till 
this  evening.  Therefore  get  to  horse  and  ride  there 
quickly,  before  it  is  too  late.” 

Isaacs  was  a  brave  man,  and  of  surpassing  strength 
to  endure.  After  the  first  passionate  outburst,  his 
manner  never  changed  as  he  mechanically  ordered 
his  horse  and  pulled  on  his  boots.  He  was  pale 
naturally,  and  great  purple  rings  seemed  to  come 
out  beneath  his  eyes  —  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow 
—  from  the  intensity  of  his  suppressed  emotion. 
Once  only  he  spoke  before  he  mounted. 

“What  is  it?”  he  asked. 

“  Jungle  fever,  ”  I  answered.  He  groaned.  “  Shall 
I  go  with  you?”  asked  I,  thinking  it  might  be  as 
well.  He  shook  his  head,  and  was  off  in  a  moment. 

I  turned  to  my  rooms  and  threw  myself  on  my  bed. 
Poor  fellow;  was  there  ever  a  more  piteous  case ?  Oh 
the  cruel  misery  of  feeling  that  nothing  could  save 
her!  And  he  —  he  who  would  give  life  and  wealtli 
and  fortune  and  power  to  give  her  back  a  shade  of 
colour  —  as  much  as  would  tinge  a  rose-leaf,  even  a 
very  little  rose-leaf  —  and  could  not.  Poor  fellow! 
What  would  he  do  to-night  — •  to-morrow.  I  could 
see  him  kneeling  by  her  side  and  weeping  hot  tears 
over  the  wasted  hands.  I  could  almost  hear  his 


MR.  ISAACS. 


297 


smothered  sob  —  his  last  words  of  speeding  to  the 
parting  soul  —  the  picture  grew  intensely  in  my 
thoughts.  How  beautiful  she  would  look  when  she 
was  dead! 

I  started  as  the  thought  came  into  my  mind.  How 
superficial  was  my  acquaintance  with  her,  poor  girl, 
—  how  little  was  she  a  part  of  my  life,  since  I  could 
really  so  heartlessly  think  of  her  beauty  when  her 
breath  should  be  gone!  Of  course,  though,  it  was 
natural  enough,  why  should  I  feel  any  personal  pang 
for  her?  It  was  odd  that  I  should  even  expect  to  — 
I,  who  never  felt  a  “personal  pang  ”  of  regret  for  the 
death  of  any  human  creature,  excepting  poor  dear  old 
Lucia,  who  brought  me  up,  and  sent  me  to  school, 
and  gave  me  roast  chestnuts  when  I  knew  my  lessons, 
in  the  streets  of  Rome,  thirty  years  ago.  When  she 
died,  I  was  there;  poor  old  soul,  how  fond  she  was 
of  me!  And  I  of  her!  I  remember  the  tears  I  shed, 
though  I  was  a  bearded  man  even  then.  How  long 
is  that?  Since  she  died,  it  must  be  ten  years. 

My  thoughts  wandered  about  among  all  sorts  of 
bric-a-brac  memories.  Presently  something  brought 
me  back  to  the  present.  Why  must  this  fair  girl 
from  the  north  die  miserably  here  in  India?  Ah  yes ! 
the  eternal  why.  Why  did  we  go  at  such  a  season 
into  the  forests  of  the  Terai?  it  was  madness;  we 
knew  it  was,  and  Ram  Lai  knew  it  too.  Plence  his 
warning.  O  Ram  Lai,  you  are  a  wise  old  man,  with 
your  gray  beard  and  you  mists  of  wet  white  velvet 
and  your  dark  sayings!  Ram  Lai,  will  you  riddle 
me,  also,  my  weird  that  I  must  dree  ? 


298 


MR.  ISAACS. 


A  cold  draught  passed  over  my  head,  and  I  turned 
on  my  couch  to  see  whence  it  came.  I  started  bolt 
upright,  and  my  hair  stood  on  end  with  sudden  terror. 
I  had  uttered  the  name  of  Ram  Lai  aloud  in  my 
reverie,  and  there  he  sat  on  a  chair  by  the  door,  as 
gray  as  ever,  with  his  long  staff  leaning  from  his 
feet  across  his  breast  and  shoulder.  He  looked  at  me 
quietly. 

“I  come  opportunely,  Mr.  Griggs,  it  seems.  Lupus 
infabula.  I  hear  my  name  pronounced  as  I  enter  the 
door.  This  is  flattering  to  a  man  of  my  modest  preten¬ 
sions  to  social  popularity.  You  would  like  me  to  tell 
you  your  fortune?  Well,  I  am  not  a  fortune-teller.” 

“Never  mind  my  fortune.  Will  Miss  Weston- 
haugh  recover  ?  ” 

“No.  She  will  die  at  sundown.” 

“How  do  you  know,  since  you  say  you  are  no 
prophet  ?  ” 

“Because  I  am  a  doctor  of  medicine.  M.D.  of 
Edinburgh.” 

“  Why  can  you  not  save  her  then  ?  A  man  who  is 
a  Scotch  doctor,  and  who  possesses  the  power  of  per¬ 
forming  such  practical  jokes  on  nature  as  you  exhib¬ 
ited  the  other  night,  might  do  something.  How¬ 
ever,  I  suppose  I  am  not  talking  to  you  at  all.  You 
are  in  Thibet  with  Shere  Ali.  This  is  your  astral 
body,  and  if  I  were  near  enough,  I  could  poke  my 
fingers  right  through  you,  as  you  sit  there,  telling 
me  you  are  an  Edinburgh  doctor,  forsooth.” 

“  Quite  right,  Mr.  Griggs.  At  the  present  moment 


MR.  ISAACS. 


299 


my  body  is  quietly  asleep  in  a  lamastery  in  Thibet, 
and  this  is  my  astral  shape,  which,  from  force  of 
habit,  I  begin  to  like  almost  as  well.  But  to  be 
serious - ” 

“  I  think  it  is  very  serious,  your  going  about  in 
this  casual  manner.” 

“  To  be  serious.  I  warned  Isaacs  that  he  should  not 
alloAv  the  tiger-hunt  to  come  off.  He  would  not  heed 
my  warning.  It  is  too  late  now.  I  am  not  omnipo¬ 
tent.” 

“  Of  course  not.  Still,  you  might  be  of  some  use 
if  you  went  there.  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope.” 

“Proverbs,”  said  Ram  Lai  scornfully,  “are  the 
wisdom  of  wise  men  prepared  in  portable  doses  for 
the  foolish ;  and  the  saying  you  quote  is  one  of  them. 
There  is  life  yet,  but  there  is  no  hope.” 

“Well,  I  am  afraid  you  are  right.  I  saw  her  this 
morning  — •  I  suppose  I  shall  never  see  her  again,  not 
alive,  at  least.  She  looked  nearly  dead  then.  Poor 
girl;  poor  Isaacs,  left  behind!  ” 

“You  may  well  say  that,  Mr.  Griggs,”  said  the 
adept.  “  On  the  whole,  perhaps  he  is  to  be  less 
pitied  than  she;  who  knows?  Perhaps  we  should 
pity  neither,  but  rather  envy  both.” 

“Why?  Either  you  are  talking  the  tritest  of 
cant,  or  you  are  indulging  in  more  of  your  dark  say¬ 
ings,  to  be  interpreted,  post  facto,  entirely  to  your 
own  satisfaction,  and  to  every  one  else’s  disgust.”  I 
was  impatient  with  the  man.  If  he  had  such  ex¬ 
traordinary  powers  as  were  ascribed  to  him  — ■  I  never 


300 


MR.  ISAACS. 


heard  him  assert  that  he  possessed  any;  if  he  could 
prophesy,  he  might  as  well  do  so  to  some  purpose. 
Why  could  he  not  speak  plainly?  He  could  not 
impose  on  me,  who  was  ready  to  give  him  credit  for 
what  he  really  could  do,  while  finding  fault  with  the 
way  he  did  it. 

“I  understand  what  passes  in  your  mind,  friend 
Griggs/’  he  said,  not  in  the  least  disconcerted  at 
my  attack.  “  You  want  me  to  speak  plainly  to  you, 
because  you  think  you  are  a  plain-spoken,  clear¬ 
headed  man  of  science  yourself.  Very  well,  I  will. 
I  think  you  might  yourself  become  a  brother  some 
day,  if  you  would.  But  you  will  not  now,  neither 
will  in  the  future.  Yet  you  understand  some  little 
distant  inkling  of  the  science.  When  you  ask  your 
scornful  questions  of  me,  you  know  perfectly  well  that 
you  are  putting  an  inquiry  which  you  yourself  can 
answer  as  well  as  I.  I  am  not  omnipotent.  I  have 
very  little  more  power  than  you.  Given  certain  con¬ 
ditions  and  I  can  produce  certain  results,  palpable, 
visible,  and  appreciable  to  all ;  but  my  power,  as  you 
know,  is  itself  merely  the  knowledge  of  the  laws  of 
nature,  which  Western  scientists,  in  their  wisdom, 
ignore.  I  can  replenish  the  oil  in  the  lamp,  and 
while  there  is  wick  the  lamp  shall  burn  —  ay,  even 
for  hundreds  of  years.  But  give  me  a  lamp  wherein 
the  wick  is  consumed,  and  I  shall  waste  my  oil;  for 
it  will  not  burn  unless  there  be  the  fibre  to  carry  it. 
So  also  is  the  body  of  man.  While  there  is  the  flame 
of  vitality,  and  the  essence  of  life  in  his  nerves  and 


MR.  ISAACS. 


301 


finer  tissues,  I  will  put  blood  in  his  veins,  and  if  lie 
meet  with  no  accident  he  may  live  to  see  hundreds 
of  generations  pass  by  him.  But  where  there  is  no 
vitality  and  no  essence  of  life  in  a  man,  he  must 
die ;  for  though  I  fill  his  veins  with  blood,  and  cause 
his  heart  to  beat  for  a  time,  there  is  no  spark  in  him 
—  no  fire,  no  nervous  strength.  So  is  Miss  Weston- 
haugh  now  —  dead  while  yet  breathing,  and  sighing 
her  sweet  farewells  to  her  lover.” 

“I  know.  I  understand  you  very  well.  But  do 
not  deny  that  you  might  have  saved  her.  Why  did 
you  not?”  Ram  Lai  smiled  a  strange  smile,  which 
I  should  have  described  as  self-satisfied,  had  it  not 
been  so  gentle  and  kind. 

“Ah  yes!”  he  said,  with  something  like  a  sigh, 
though  there  was  no  sorrow  or  regret  in  it.  “Yes, 
Griggs,  I  might  have  saved  her  life.  I  would  cer¬ 
tainly  have  saved  her  —  well,  if  he  had  not  persuaded 
her  to  go  down  into  that  steaming  country  at  this 
time  of  year,  since  it  was  my  advice  to  remain  here. 
But  it  is  no  use  talking  about  it.” 

“I  think  you  might  have  conveyed  your  meaning 
to  him  a  little  more  clearly.  He  had  no  idea  that 
you  meant  danger  to  her.” 

“No,  very  likely  not.  It  is  not  my  business  to 
mould  men’s  destinies  for  them.  If  I  give  them 
advice  that  is  good,  it  is  quite  enough.  It  is  like  a 
man  playing  cards :  if  he  does  not  seize  his  chance 
it  does  not  return.  Besides,  it  is  much  better  for 
him  that  she  should  die.” 


302 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“Your  moral  reflections  are  insufferable.  Can 
you  not  find  some  one  else  to  whom  you  may  confide 
your  secret  joy  of  my  friend’s  misfortunes?” 

“  Calm  yourself.  I  say  it  is  better  for  her,  better 
for  him,  better  for  both.  Remember  what  you  said 
to  him  yourself  about  the  difference  between  pleasure 
and  happiness.  They  shall  be  one  yet,  their  happi¬ 
ness  shall  not  be  less  eternal  because  their  pleasure 
in  this  life  has  been  brief.  Can  you  not  conceive  of 
immortal  peace  and  joy  without  the  satisfaction  of 
earthly  lust?” 

“I  would  not  call  such  a  beautiful  union  as  theirs 
might  have  been  by  such  a  name.  For  myself,  I  con¬ 
fess  to  a  very  real  desire  for  pleasure  first  and  happi¬ 
ness  afterwards.” 

“  I  know  you  better  than  you  think,  Mr.  Griggs. 
You  are  merely  argumentative,  rarely  sceptical.  If 
I  had  begun  by  denying  what  I  instead  asserted,  you 
would  by  this  time  have  been  arguing  as  strongly  on 
my  side  as  you  now  are  on  yours.  You  are  often 
very  near  degenerating  into  a  common  sophist.” 

“Very  likely,  it  was  a  charming  profession.  Mean¬ 
while,  by  going  to  the  very  opposite  extreme  from 
sophistry,  I  mean  by  a  more  than  Quixotic  veneration 
for  an  abstract  dogma  you  hold  to  be  true,  and  by 
your  determination  to  make  people  die  for  it,  you 
are  causing  fearful  misery  of  body,  untold  agony  of 
soul,  to  a  woman  and  a  man  whom  you  should  have 
every  reason  to  like.  Go  to,  Ram  Lai,  adept,  magi¬ 
cian,  enthusiast,  and  prophet,  you  are  mistaken,  like 
all  your  kind!  ” 


MR.  ISAACS. 


303 


“No,  I  am  not  mistaken,  time  will  show.  More¬ 
over,  I  would  have  you  remark  that  the  lady  in  ques¬ 
tion  is  not  suffering  at  all,  and  that  the  ‘untold 
agony  of  soul’  you  attribute  to  Isaacs  is  a  wholesome 
medicine  for  one  with  such  a  soul  as  his.  And  now 
I  am  going,  for  you  are  not  the  sort  of  person  with 
whom  I  can  enjoy  talking  very  long.  You  are 
violent  and  argumentative,  though  you  are  some¬ 
times  amusing.  I  am  rarely  violent,  and  I  never 
argue:  life  is  too  short.  And  yet  I  have  more  time 
for  it  than  you,  seeing  my  life  will  be  indefinitely 
longer  than  yours.  Good-bye,  for  the  present;  and 
believe  me,  those  two  will  be  happier  far,  and  far 
more  blessed,  in  a  few  short  years  hence,  than  ever 
you  or  I  shall  be  in  all  the  unreckonable  cycles  of 
this  or  any  future  world.”  Ram  Lai  sighed  as  he 
uttered  the  last  words,  and  he  was  gone ;  yet  the 
musical  cadence  of  the  deep-drawn  breath  of  a  pro¬ 
found  sorrow,  vibrated  whisperingly  through  the 
room  where  I  lay.  Poor  Ram  Lai,  he  must  have  had 
some  disappointment  in  his  youth,  which,  with  all 
his  wisdom  and  superiority  over  the  common  earth, 
still  left  a  sore  place  in  his  heart. 

I  was  not  inclined  to  move.  I  knew  where  Isaacs 
was,  where  he  would  remain  to  the  bitter  end,  and  I 
would  not  go  out  into  the  world  that  day,  while  he 
was  kneeling  in  the  chamber  of  death.  He  might 
come  back  at  any  time.  How  long  would  it  last? 
God  in  his  mercy  grant  it  might  be  soon  and  quickly 
over,  without  suffering.  Oh !  but  those  strong  people 


304 


MR.  ISAACS. 


die  so  deathly  hard.  I  have  seen  a  man  —  No,  I  was 
sure  of  that.  She  would  not  suffer  any  more  now. 

I  lay  thinking.  Would  Isaacs  send  for  me  when 
he  returned,  or  would  he  face  his  grief  alone  for  a 
night  before  he  spoke?  The  latter,  I  thought;  I 
hoped  so  too.  How  little  sympathy  there  must  be 
for  any  one,  even  the  dearest,  in  our  souls  and  hearts, 
when  it  is  so  hard  to  look  forward  to  speaking  half- 
a-dozen  words  of  comfort  to  some  poor  wretch  of  a 
friend  who  has  lost  everything  in  the  wide  world 
that  is  dear  to  him.  We  would  rather  give  him  all 
we  possess  outright  than  attempt  to  console  him  for 
the  loss.  And  yet  —  what  is  there  in  life  more  sweet 
than  to  be  consoled  and  comforted,  and  to  have  the 
true  sympathy  of  some  one,  even  a  little  near  to  us, 
when  we  ourselves  are  suffering.  The  people  we  do 
not  want  shower  cards  of  condolence  on  us,  and 
carriage-loads  of  flowers  on  the  poor  dead  thing;  the 
ones  who  could  be  of  some  help  to  the  tortured  soul 
are  afraid  to  speak;  the  very  delicacy  of  kind- 
heartedness  in  them,  which  makes  us  wish  they 
would  come,  makes  them  stay  away. 

I  hope  Isaacs  will  not  send  for  me,  poor  fellow. 

If  he  does,  what  shall  I  say?  God  help  me. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


305 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  hours  came  and  went,  and  though  worn  out 
with  the  exertions  of  the  past  days,  and  with  the 
emotions  of  the  morning,  I  lay  in  my  rooms,  unable 
to  sleep  even  for  a  moment.  I  went  down  once  or 
twice  to  Isaacs’  rooms  to  know  whether  he  had  re¬ 
turned,  hut  he  had  not,  nor  had  any  one  heard  from 
him.  At  last  the  evening  shadows  crept  stealthily 
up,  darkening  first  one  room,  then  another,  until 
there  was  not  light  enough  to  read  by.  Then  I 
dropped  my  book  and  went  out  to  breathe  the  cold 
air  on  the  verandah.  Wearily  the  hours  went  by, 
and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  my  friend. 

Towards  eleven  o’clock  the  moon,  now  waning, 
once  more  rose  above  the  hills  and  shed  her  light 
across  the  lawn,  splendid  still,  but  with  the  first 
tinge  of  melancholy  that  clouds  her  departing  glory. 
Exhausted  nature  asserted  herself,  and  chilled  to  the 
bone  I  went  to  bed,  and,  at  last,  to  sleep. 

I  slept  peacefully  at  first,  but  soon  the  events  that 
had  come  over  my  life  began  to  weave  themselves  in 
wild  disharmony  through  my  restful  visions,  and 
the  events  that  were  to  come  cast  their  lengthening 
shadows  before  them.  The  world  of  past,  present, 


v 


306 


MR.  ISAACS. 


and  future  thoughts,  came  into  my  soul,  distorted, 
without  perspective,  nothing  to  help  me  to  discern 
the  good  from  the  evil,  the  suffering  gone  and  long- 
forgotten  from  the  pain  in  store.  The  triumph  of 
discrepancy  over  waking  reason,  the  fancied  victories 
of  the  sleep-dulled  intellect  over  the  outrageous  dis¬ 
cord  of  the  wakeful  imagination.  I  passed  a  most 
miserable  night.  It  seemed  rest  to  wake,  until  I 
was  awake,  and  then  it  seemed  rest  to  sleep  again, 
until  my  eyes  were  closed.  At  last  it  came,  no  dream 
this  time ;  Isaacs  stood  by  my  bed-side  in  the  gray 
of  the  morning,  himself  grayer  than  the  soft  neutral- 
tinted  dawn.  It  was  a  terrible  moment  to  me,  though 
I  had  expected  it  since  yesterday.  I  felt  like  the 
condemned  criminal  in  France,  who  does  not  know 
the  day  or  hour  of  his  death.  The  first  intimation  is 
when  the  executioner  at  daybreak  enters  his  cell  and 
bids  him  come  forth  to  die,  sometimes  in  less  than 
sixty  seconds  from  his  waking.1 

How  gray  he  looked,  and  how  infinitely  tried.  I 
rose  swiftly  and  took  his  hands,  which  were  deadly 
cold,  and  led  him  to  the  outer  room.  I  could  not  say 
anything,  for  I  did  not  know  how  such  a  terribly  sud¬ 
den  blow  would  affect  him ;  he  was  so  unlike  any  one 
else.  Why  is  it  so  hard  to  comfort  the  afflicted  ?  Why 
should  the  most  charitable  duty  it  is  ever  given  us  to 
perform  be,  without  exception,  the  hardest  of  tasks  ? 

I  am  sure  most  people  feel  as  I  do.  It  is  far  less 
painful  to  suffer  wounds  and  sickness  in  one’s  own 


1  A  fact,  as  is  well  known. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


307 


body  than  to  stand  by  and  see  the  cold  clean  knife  go 
through  skin  and  flesh  and  cartilage;  it  is  surely 
easier  to  suffer  disease  than  to  smooth  daily  and 
hourly  the  bed  and  pillows  of  some  poor  tormented 
wretch,  calling  on  God  and  man  to  end  his  misery. 
There  is  a  hidden  instinct  —  of  a  low  and  cowardly 
kind,  but  human  nevertheless — which  bids  us  turn 
away  from  spectacles  of  agony  whether  harrowing  or 
repulsive,  until  the  good  angel  comes  and  whispers 
that  we  must  trample  on  such  coarse  impulse  and  do 
our  duty.  “Show  pity,”  said  the  wise  old  French¬ 
man,  “  do  anything  to  alleviate  distress,  but  avoid  ac¬ 
tually  feeling  either  compassion  or  sympathy.  They 
can  lead  to  no  good.”  That  was  only  his  way  of 
making  to  himself  an  excuse  for  doing  a  good  action, 
for  Larochefoucauld  was  a  man  who  really  possessed 
every  virtue  that  he  disclaimed  for  himself  and  denied 
in  others. 

I  felt  much  of  this  as  I  led  Isaacs  to  the  outer 
room,  not  knowing  what  form  his  sorrow  might 
take,  but  feeling  in  my  own  person  a  grief  as  poig¬ 
nant,  perhaps,  for  the  moment,  as  his  own.  I  had 
known  he  would  come,  that  was  all,  though  I  had 
hoped  he  would  not,  and  I  knew  that  I  must  do  my 
best  to  send  him  away  a  little  less  sorrowful  than  he 
had  come.  I  was  not  prepared  for  the  extreme  calm 
of  voice  and  manner  that  marked  his  first  words, 
coming  with  measured  rhythm  and  even  cadence  from 
his  pale  lips. 

“It  is  all  over,  my  friend,”  he  said. 


308 


MR.  ISAACS. 


“It  lias  but  begun,”  said  the  solemn  tones  of  Ram 
Lai,  tlie  Buddhist,  from  the  door.  He  entered  and 
approached  us. 

“Friend  Isaacs,”  he  continued,  “I  am  not  here  to 
mock  at  your  grief  or  to  weary  your  strained  heart¬ 
strings  with  such  petty  condolence  as  well-nigh  drove 
Ayoub  of  old  to  impatience.  But  I  love  you,  my 
brother,  and  I  have  somewhat  to  say  to  you  in  your 
trouble,  some  advice  to  give  you  in  your  distress. 
You  are  suffering  greatly,  past  the  power  of  reason  to 
alleviate,  for  you  no  longer  know  yourself,  nor  are 
aware  what  you  really  think.  But  I  will  show  to 
you  three  pictures  of  yourself  that  shall  rouse  you 
to  what  you  are,  to  what  you  were,  and  to  what  you 
shall  be. 

“  I  found  you,  not  many  years  ago,  a  very  young 
man,  most  exceptionally  placed  in  regard  to  the 
world.  You  were  even  then  rich,  though  not  so  rich 
as  you  now  are.  You  were  beautiful  and  full  of 
vigour,  but  you  have  now  upon  you  the  glow  of  a 
higher  beauty,  the  overflowing  promise  of  a  more 
glorious  life.  You  were  happy  because  you  thought 
you  were,  but  such  happiness  as  you  had  proceeded 
from  without  rather  than  from  within.  You  were  a 
materially  thinking  man.  Your  thoughts  were  of 
the  flesh,  and  your  delights  —  harmless  it  is  true  — 
were  in  the  things  that  were  under  your  eyes  — 
wealth,  power,  book  knowledge,  and  perhaps  woman, 
if  you  can  call  the  creatures  you  believed  in  women. 

“  You  gathered  wealth  in  great  heaps,  and  your 


MR.  ISAACS. 


309 


precious  stones  in  storehouses.  You  laid  your  hand 
upon  the  diamond  of  the  river  and  upon  the  pearl  of 
the  sea,  and  they  abode  with  you,  as  the  light  of  the 
sun  and  the  moon.  And  you  said,  ‘Behold  it  is  my 
star,  which  is  the  lord  of  the  dog-heat  in  summer,  and 
it  is  my  kismet.’  You  also  took  to  yourself  wives  of 
rare  qualities,  having  both  golden  and  raven  black 
hair,  whose  skin  was  as  fine  silk,  and  their  breath  as 
the  freshness  of  the  dawning,  and  their  eyes  as  jewels. 
Then  said  you,  rejoicing  in  your  heart,  that  you  were 
happy ;  and  so  you  dwelt  in  peace  and  plenty,  and 
waxed  glad. 

“Therefore  you  accomplished  your  first  destiny, 
and  you  drank  of  the  cup  that  was  filled  to  overflow¬ 
ing.  And  if  it  had  been  the  law  of  nature  that  from 
pleasure  man  should  derive  permanent  lasting  peace, 
you  had  been  happy  so  long  as  you  lived.  But, 
though  you  have  the  faultless  life  of  the  body  to  enjoy 
all  things  of  the  earth,  even  as  other  men,  though  in 
another  degree,  you  have  within  you  something  more. 
There  is  in  your  breast  a  heart  heating  —  an  organ  so 
wonderful  in  its  sensitiveness,  so  perfect  in  its  con¬ 
sciousness  of  good,  that  the  least  throb  and  thrill  of 
pleasure  that  it  feels  is  worth  years  and  ages  of  mere 
sensual  life  enjoyment.  The  body  having  tasted  of 
all  happiness  whereof  it  is  capable,  and  having  found 
that  it  is  good,  is  saturated  with  its  own  ease  and 
enjoys  less  keenly.  But  the  heart  is  the  borderland 
between  body  and  soul.  The  heart  can  love  and  the 
body  can  love,  but  the  body  can  only  love  itself;  the 


310 


MR.  ISAACS. 


heart  is  the  wellspring  of  the  love  that  goes  beyond 
self.  Therefore  your  heart  awoke. 

“  Shall  I  tell  you  of  the  first  early  stirrings  of  your 
love  ?  Think  you,  because  I  am  gray  and  loveless, 
that  I  have  never  known  youth  and  gladness  of  heart  ? 
Ah,  I  know,  better  than  you  can  think.  It  is  not 
sudden,  really,  the  blossoming  out  of  the  tree  of  life. 
The  small  leaves  grow  larger  and  stronger  though  still 
closely  folded  in  the  bud,  until  the  bright  warmth  of 
the  spring  makes  them  burst  into  bloom.  The  little 
lark  in  the  nest  among  the  grass  grows  beneath  the 
mother’s  wing  and  idly  moves,  now  and  then,  uncon¬ 
scious  of  the  cloud-cleaving  gift  of  flight,  until  all  at 
once,  in  the  fair  dawning,  there  wells  up  in  his  tiny 
breast  the  mighty  sense  of  power  to  rise. 

“  The  human  heart  is  like  the  budded  folded  leaves, 
and  like  the  untaught  lark.  The  quiet  sleep  before 
the  day  of  blooming  is,  while  it  lasts,  a  state  of  hap¬ 
piness.  But  it  is  not  comparable  with  the  breathing 
joy  of  the  leaf  that  feels  and  sees  the  wonderful  life 
around  it,  whispering  divine  answers  to  the  wooing 
breeze.  The  humble  nest  where  it  has  first  seen 
light  is  for  many  days  a  happy  home  to  the  tender 
songster,  soon  left  behind,  when  the  first  wing-strokes 
waft  the  small  body  upwards  to  the  sky,  and  forgotten 
as  the  first  glad  trill  and  quaver  of  the  new-found 
voice  roll  out  the  prelude  to  the  glorious  life-long 
hymn  of  praise.  The  heart  of  man  —  your  heart,  my 
dear  friend  —  gave  a  great  leap  from  earth  to  sky, 
when  first  it  felt  the  magic  of  the  other  life.  The 


MR.  ISAACS. 


311 


grosser  scales  of  material  vision  fell  away  from  your 
inner  sight  on  the  day  when  you  met,  and  knew  you 
had  met,  the  woman  you  were  to  love. 

“I  found  you  again,  a  different  man,  a  far  happier 
man,  though  you  would  hardly  allow  that.  A  sweet 
uncertainty  of  the  future  half-tinged  your  joy  with  a 
shadow  of  sadness,  which  you  had  not  known  before : 
but  love  sadness  is  only  the  shading  and  gentle  pen¬ 
cilling  in  love’s  wondrous  picture,  whereby  the 
whole  light  of  the  painting  is  made  clearer  and 
stronger.  A  new  world  opened  out  before  you  in 
endless  vistas  of  untold  and  undreamed  bliss.  You 
looked  back  at  your  former  self,  so  careless  and 
sunny,  so  consciously  happy  in  the  strong  sense  of 
life  and  power,  and  you  wondered  how  you  could 
have  been  even  contented  through  so  many  years. 
The  good  and  evil  deeds  of  your  past  life  lost 
colour  and  perspective,  and  fell  back  into  a  dull,  flat 
background,  against  which  the  ineffable  vision  of 
beautiful  and  immortal  womanhood  stood  forth  in 
transcendent  glory.  The  eternal  womanly  element 
of  the  great  universe  beckoned  you  on,  as  it  did  Doctor 
Faustus  of  old.  You  had  hitherto  accepted  woman 
and  ignored  womanhood,  as  so  many  of  the  followers 
of  the  prophet  have  always  done.  Henceforth  there 
was  to  be  a  change,  entire,  complete,  and  enduring. 
No  doubts  now,  or  careless  scepticism;  no  cant  about 
women  having  no  souls  and  no  individual  being;  you 
had  made  a  great  step  to  a  better  understanding  of 
tlio  world  you  live  in.  Filled  with  a  new  life,  you 


312 


MR.  ISAACS. 


went  on  your  way  rejoicing  and  longing  to  do  great 
deeds  for  lier  who  had  come  into  your  destiny.  From 
dawn  to  sunset,  and  from  evening  to  dawn,  one 
picture  ever  was  before  you  leading  you  on.  You 
were  ready  to  run  any  risk  for  a  smile  and  a  blush  of 
pleasure,  you  were  willing  to  sacrifice  anything  and 
everything  for  her  praise.  And  when,  down  there 
among  the  mango-trees  in  the  Terai,  your  lips  first 
touched  hers  and  your  arm  pressed  her  to  your  side, 
the  joy  that  was  yours  was  as  the  joy  of  the  im¬ 
mortals.” 

Ram  Lai  paused,  and  Isaacs,  who  had  been  sitting 
by  the  table,  stony  and  dry-eyed,  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands,  clutching  with  his  white  fingers  among  his 
bright  black  hair  —  all  that  seemed  left  to  him  of  life, 
so  dead  and  ashy  was  his  face.  He  remained  thus 
without  looking  up,  as  the  old  man  continued. 

“  Think  not,  dear  friend  and  brother,  that  I  have 
come  here  to  dwell  needlessly  on  your  grief,  to  rouse 
again  the  keen  agonies  that  have  so  lately  burned 
through  and  through  you  to  the  quick.  I  love  you 
well,  and  would  but  trace  the  past  in  order  to  paint 
the  future.  All  that  you  felt  and  knew  in  those 
short  days  of  perfect  love  on  earth  was  good  and  true 
and  noble,  and  shall  not  be  forgotten  hereafter.  But 
last  night  closed  the  second  of  your  three  destinies 
—  as  true  love  always  must  close  on  earth  —  in  bitter 
grief  and  sorrow  because  the  one  is  gone  before. 
Rather  should  you  rejoice,  Abdul  Hafiz,  that  she  is 
gone  in  virgin  whiteness,  whither  ere  long  you  shall 


MR.  ISAACS. 


313 


follow  and  be  with  her  till  time  shall  chase  the 
crumbling  world  out  over  the  broad  quicksands  of 
eternity,  and  nought  shall  survive  of  all  this  but 
the  pure  and  the  constant  and  the  faithful  to  death. 
There  is  before  you  a  third  destiny,  great  and  awful, 
but  grand  beyond  power  of  telling.  Body  and  heart 
have  had  their  full  cup  of  happiness,  have  enjoyed  to 
the  full  what  has  been  set  in  their  way  to  enjoy.  To 
the  full  you  have  enjoyed  wealth  and  success  and  the 
sensuality  of  a  refined  and  artistic  luxury;  to  the  full, 
as  only  a  few  rarely-gifted  men  can,  you  have  en¬ 
joyed  the  purest  and  highest  love  that  earth  can  give. 
Think  not  that  all  ends  here.  The  greatest  of  desti¬ 
nies  is  but  begun,  and  it  is  the  destiny  of  the  soul. 
Two  days  ago  if  I  had  told  you  there  was  something 
higher  in  you  than  the  loving  heart,  you  would  not 
have  believed  me ;  now  you  do.  It  is  the  ethereal  por¬ 
tion  of  the  heart,  that  which  longs  to  be  loosed  from 
the  body  and  floating  upwards  to  rejoin  its  other  half. 

“Your  love  has  been  of  the  best  kind  that  falls  to 
the  lot  of  man.  Not  a  single  shadoAV  of  doubting 
fell  between  you.  It  has  been  sweet  if  it  has  seemed 
short  —  but  it  has  really  lasted  a  long  time,  as  long 
as  some  people’s  lives.  You  are  many  years  older 
than  you  were  when  it  began,  for  a  month  or  two  ago 
—  or  whenever  it  was  that  your  heart  first  awoke  — 
you  were  entirely  immersed  in  the  material  view  of 
things  that  belonged  naturally  enough  to  your  posi¬ 
tion  and  mode  of  life.  Now  you  have  passed  the 
critical  border-land  wherein  love  wanders,  himself 


314 


MR.  ISAACS. 


not  knowing  whither  he  shall  lead  his  followers, 
whether  back  to  the  thick  green  pasture  and  heavy- 
scented  groves  of  sensual  existence  or  forward  to  free 
wind-swept  heights  of  spiritual  blessedness,  where 
those  who  are  true  until  they  die  walk  forth  into 
truth  everlasting.  Yours  is  the  faith  and  the  truth 
that  abide  always,  yours  henceforward  shall  be  the 
perfect  union  of  souls,  yours  the  ethereal  range  of  the 
outer  firmament.  Take  my  hand,  brother,  in  yours, 
and  seek  with  me  the  path  to  those  heights  —  to  that 
pinnacle  of  paradise  where  you  shall  meet  once  more 
the  spirit  elected  to  yours.” 

Ram  Lai  stood  beside  Isaacs,  whose  face  was  still 

> 

hidden,  and  laid  his  hand  with  tender  gentleness  on 
the  weary  head.  The  old  man  looked  kindly  down 
as  he  touched  the  thick  black  hair,  and  then  raised 
his  eyes  and  looked  out  through  the  door  at  the 
brightening  landscape  over  which  the  morning  sun 
was  shedding  warmth  and  beauty  once  more. 

“Brother,”  he  continued,  “come  forth  with  me. 
You  have  suffered  too  much  to  mix  again  with  the 
world,  even  if  you  wished  it.  Come  forth,  and  your 
soul  shall  live  for  ever.  Your  grief  shall  be  turned 
to  joy,  and  the  sinking  heart  shall  be  lifted  to  heights 
untried.  As  now  the  sun  steadily  rises  in  his  unerr¬ 
ing  course,  following  the  pale  footsteps  of  the  fleet 
dawning,  and  fulfilling  her  half  spoken  promises  a 
million-fold  in  his  goodness;  as  now  the  all-muffling 
heaviness  of  the  sad  dark  night  is  forgotten  in  the 
gladness  of  day  —  so  shall  your  brief  time  of  dark- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


815 


ness  and  dull  distress  perish  and  vanish  swiftly  at 
the  first  glimpses  of  the  heavenly  day  on  which  fol¬ 
lows  no  creeping  night  nor  shadow  of  earthly  care. 
I  come  not  to  bid  you  forget;  I  come  to  bid  you 
remember.  Remember  all  that  is  past,  treasure  it  in 
the  secret  storehouse  of  the  soul  where  the  few  flowers 
culled  from  life’s  abundant  thorn  are  laid  in  their 
fragrance  and  garnered  up.  Remember  also  the 
future.  Think  that  your  time  is  short,  and  that  the 
labour  shall  be  sweet;  so  that  in  a  few  quick  years 
you  shall  reap  a  harvest  of  unearthly  blooming.  Fear 
not  to  tread  boldly  in  the  tracks  of  those  who  have 
climbed  before  you,  and  who  have  attained  and  have 
conquered.  What  can  anything  earthly  ever  be  to 
you?  What  can  you  ever  care  again  for  gold,  or 
gem,  or  horse,  or  slave  ?  Do  with  those  things  as  it 
may  seem  good  in  your  eyes,  but  leave  them  behind. 
The  weight  of  the  money-bags  is  a  weariness  and 
soreness  to  the  feet  that  toil  to  overtake  eternity. 
The  flesh  itself  is  weariness  to  the  spirit,  and  soon 
leaves  it  to  wing  its  flight  untrammelled  and  untir¬ 
ing.  Come,  I  will  give  you  of  my  poor  strength  what 
shall  carry  your  uncertain  steps  over  the  first  great 
difficulties,  or  at  least  over  so  many  as  you  have  not 
yet  surmounted.  Be  bold,  aspiring,  fearless,  and 
firm  of  purpose.  What  guerdon  can  man  or  Heaven 
offer,  higher  than  eternal  communion  with  the  bright 
spirit  that  waits  and  watches  for  your  coming  ?  W ith 
her  —  you  said  it  while  she  lived — was  your  life, 
your  light,  and  your  love;  it  is  true  tenfold  now,  for 


316 


MR.  ISAACS. 


with  her  is  life  eternal,  light  ethereal,  and  love  spirit¬ 
ual.  Come,  brother,  come  with  me!  ” 

Slowly  Isaacs  raised  his  head  from  his  hands  and 
gazed  long  on  the  old  man.  And  while  he  gazed  it 
was  as  if  his  pale  face  were  transparent  and  the  white- 
ness  of  the  burning  spirit,  dazzling  to  see,  came  and 
went  quickly  and  came  again  as  flashes  in  the  north¬ 
ern  sky.  Slowly  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  laying  his 
hand  in  the  Buddhist's,  spoke  at  last. 

“Brother,  I  come,’*  he  said.  “Show  me  the  way.” 

“Bight  gladly  will  I  be  thy  guide,  Abdul,”  Ram 
Lai  gave  answer.  “  Right  willingly  will  I  go  with 
thee  whither  thou  wouldest.  Never  was  teacher 
sought  by  more  worthy  pupil ;  never  did  man  embrace 
the  pure  life  of  the  brethren  with  more  single  heart 
or  truer  purpose.  The  way  shall  be  short  that  leads 
thee  upward,  the  stones  that  are  therein  shall  be  as 
wings  to  lift  thy  feet  instead  of  stumbling-blocks 
for  thy  destruction.  The  hidden  forces  of  nature 
shall  lend  thee  strength,  and  her  secrets  wisdom ; 
the  deep  f  met  springs  of  the  eternal  water  shad 
refresh  thee  and  the  food  of  the  angels  shall  be  thine. 
Thy  sorrows  shall  turn  from  bitter  into  sweet,  and 
from  the  stings  of  thy  past  agonies  shall  grow  up  the 
golden  flowers  of  thy  future  crown.  Thou  slialt  not 
tire  in  the  way,  nor  crave  rest  by  the  wayside.” 

“Friend,  tell  me  what  I  shall  do  that  I  may  attain 
all  this.” 

“  Be  faithful  to  her  who  has  preceded  you,  and 
learn  of  us,  who  know  it,  wherein  consists  true  hap- 


MR.  ISAACS. 


31T 


piness.  You  need  but  little  help,  dear  friend. 
Banish  only  from  your  thoughts  the  human  sugges¬ 
tion  that  what  you  love  most  is  lost,  gone  irrevo¬ 
cably.  Rejoice,  and  mourn  not,  that  she  has  entered 
in  already  where  all  your  striving  is  to  follow.  Be 
glad  because  she  looks  on  those  sights  and  hears 
those  sounds  which  are  too  bright  and  strong  yet  for 
your  eyes  and  ears.  Some  of  these  unspeakable 
things  you  shall  perceive  with  your  perishable  body; 
but  the  more  perfect  and  glorious  remain  hidden  to 
our  mortal  senses,  be  they  ever  so  keen  and  exquisite. 
Believe  me,  you  shall  reach  that  state  before  I  do. 
My  poor  soul  is  still  bound  to  earth  by  some  slender 
bonds  of  pleasure  and  contemptible  pain,  fine  indeed 
as  threads  of  gossamer,  and  soon,  I  trust,  to  be  shaken 
off  for  ever.  Yet  am  I  bound  and  not  utterly  free. 
You,  my  brother,  have  been  wrenched  suddenly  from 
the  life  of  the  body  to  the  life  of  the  soul.  In  you 
the  vile  desire  to  live  for  living’s  sake. will  soon  be 
dead,  if  it  is  not  dead  already.  Your  soul,  drawn 
strongly  upward  to  other  spheres,  is  well  i  gh  loosed 
from  love  of  life  and  fear  of  death.  If  at  tliis  moment 
you  could  lie  down  and  die,  you  would  meet  your  end 
joyfully.  Very  subtle  are  the  fast- vanishing  links 
between  you  and  the  world ;  very  thin  and  impalpable 
the  faint  shadows  that  mar  to  your  vision  those  tran¬ 
scendent  hues  of  heavenly  glory  you  shall  so  soon 
behold.  Look  forward,  look  upward,  look  onward 
—  never  once  look  back,  and  your  waiting  shall  not 
be  long,  nor  her  watching  many  days.  She  stands 


318 


MR.  ISAACS. 


before  you,  beckoning'  and  praying  that  you  tarry 
not.  See  that  you  do  lier  bidding  faithfully,  as  being 
near  the  blessed  end,  and  fearful  of  losing  even  one 
moment  in  the  attainment  of  what  you  seek.” 

“  Fear  not,  Ram  Lai.  My  determination  shall  not 
fail  me,  nor  my  courage  waver,  until  all  is  reached.” 

The  light  of  another  world  was  on  the  beautiful 
broAV  and  features  as  he  looked  full  at  his  future 
teacher.  What  strange  powers  these  adept  brethren 
have!  What  marvellous  magnetism  over  the  souls 
of  lesser  men  —  whereby  they  turn  sorrow  into  glad¬ 
ness,  and  defeat  into  triumph  by  mere  words.  I 
myself,  bound  by  thought  and  word  and  deed  to  the 
lesser  life,  was  not  unmoved  by  the  glorious  promises 
that  flowed  with  glowing  eloquence  from  the  lips  of 
that  gray  old  man  in  the  early  morning.  They  moved 
toward  the  door.  Ram  Lai  spoke  as  he  turned  away. 

“We  leave  you,  friend  Griggs,  but  we  will  return 
this  evening  and  bid  you  farewell.”  So  I  was  left 
alone.  Another  comforter  had  taken  m}^  place ;  one 
knowing  human  nature  better,  and  well  versed  in  the 
learning  of  the  spirit.  One  of  that  small  band  of 
high  priests  who  in  all  ages  and  nations  and  religions 
and  societies  have  been  the  mediators  between  time 
and  eternity,  to  cheer  and  comfort  the  broken-hearted, 
to  rebuke  him  who  would  lose  his  own  soul,  to  speed 
the  awakening  spirit  in  its  heavenward  flight. 

*  *  *  * 

As  I  sat  in  my  room  that  night  the  door  opened 
and  they  were  with  me,  standing  hand  in  hand. 


MR.  ISAACS. 


319 


“  My  friend,”  said  Isaacs,  “  I  have  come  to  bid  you 
farewell.  You  will  never  see  me  again.  I  am  here 
once  more  to  thank  you,  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  for  your  friendship  and  kind  offices,  for  the 
strength  of  your  arm  in  the  hour  of  need,  and  for  the 
gold  of  your  words  in  time  of  uncertainty.” 

“Isaacs,”  I  said,  “I  know  little  of  the  journey  you 
are  undertaking,  and  I  cannot  go  with  you.  This 
I  know,  that  you  are  very  near  to  a  life  I  cannot 
hope  for;  and  I  pray  God  that  you  may  speed  quickly 
to  the  desired  end,  that  you  may  attain  that  happi¬ 
ness  which  your  brave  soul  and  honest  heart  so  well 
deserve.  Once  more,  then,  I  offer  you  my  fullest 
service,  if  there  is  anything  that  I  still  can  do.” 

“There  is  nothing,”  he  answered,  “though  if  there 
were  I  know  you  Avould  do  it  gladly  and  entirely. 
I  have  bestowed  all  my  worldly  possessions  on  the 
one  man  besides  yourself  to  whom  I  owe  a  debt  of 
gratitude  —  John  Westonhaugh.  Had  I  known  you 
less  well,  I  would  have  made  you  a  sharer  in  my 
forsaken  wealth.  Only  this  I  beg  of  you.  Take  this 
gem  and  keep  it  always  for  my  sake.  No  —  do  not 
look  at  it  in  that  way.  Do  not  consider  its  value. 
It  is  to  recall  one  who  will  often  think  of  you,  for 
you  have  been  a  great  deal  to  me  in  this  month.” 

“I  would  I  might  have  been  more,”  I  said,  and  it 
was  all  I  could  say,  for  my  voice  failed  me. 

“Think  of  me,”  he  continued,  and  the  bright  light 
shone  through  his  face  in  the  dusk,  “think  of  me, 
not  as  you  see  me  now,  or  as  I  was  this  morning, 


320 


MR.  ISAACS. 


bowed  beneath  a  great  sorrow,  but  as  looking  forward 
to  a  happiness  that  transcends  this  mortal  joy  that  I 
have  lost,  even  as  the  glory  of  things  celestial  tran¬ 
scends  the  glory  of  the  terrestrial.  Think  of  me,  not 
as  mourning  the  departed  day,  but  as  watching  long¬ 
ingly  for  the  first  faint  dawn  of  the  day  eternal. 
Above  all,  think  of  me  not  as  alone  but  as  wedded 
for  all  ages  to  her  who  has  gone  before  me.” 

Ram  Lai  laid  his  hand  on  my  arm  and  looked  long 
into  my  eyes. 

“Farewell  for  the  present,  my  chance  acquaint¬ 
ance,”  he  said,  “and  remember  that  in  me  you  have  a 
friend.  The  day  may  come  when  you  too  will  be  in 
dire  distress,  beyond  the  skill  of  mere  solitude  and 
books  to  soothe.  Farewell,  and  may  all  good  things 
be  with  you.” 

Isaacs  laid  his  two  hands  on  my  shoulders,  and 
once  more  I  met  the  wondrous  lustre  of  his  eyes, 
now  veiled  but  not  darkened  with  the  last  look  of 
his  tender  friendship. 

“Good-bye,  my  dear  Griggs.  You  have  been  the 
instructor  and  the  genius  of  my  love.  Learn  your¬ 
self  the  lessons  you  can  teach  others  so  well.  Be 
yourself  what  you  would  have  made  me.” 

One  last  loving  look  —  one  more  pressure  of  the 
reluctant  fingers,  and  those  two  went  out,  hand  in 
hand,  under  the  clear  stars,  and  I  saw  them  no  more. 


THE  END. 


